


A Not So Simpler Time

by RavenclawAngel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Assassination Attempt(s), Brooklyn, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Tony Stark, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawAngel/pseuds/RavenclawAngel
Summary: What was supposed to be an average mission quickly goes sideways when a hydra assassin succeeds in going back in time. His mission: take out Captain America, before he becomes hydra's greatest enemy.





	1. Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while. A lot of it is already drafted out in some form or another, so I'm hoping to update this about once a week, assuming everything goes according to plan. Please, enjoy.

                It was a rare day that everyone, including Thor, was at the tower without an emergency to bring them all together. Absently, Steve thought about having a celebratory dinner to mark the occasion. Maybe they could order Chinese and then the others could pick out a movie for Steve and Thor’s continuing pop culture education. Or maybe he could pick out the movie, he still had his list of recommendations he was trying to get through and _Star Trek_ sounded interesting.

                “Hey Cap, you’re looking particularly thoughtful today, what’s on your mind?” Clint asks joining him in the kitchen.

                “I think tonight we should watch _Star Trek._ ” Steve says.

                “Really? Wouldn’t you rather read through old mission files and develop new tactics?” Clint asks, a slight smirk ruining his otherwise innocent expression. He grabs some leftover pizza out of the fridge and pops it into the microwave.

                “Funny, I’m proposing a night off, since we’re all together anyway,” Steve says. He steals a slice as Clint takes the pizza out. Clint bats at his hand, which Steve ignores. He still wasn’t fully used to all the new technology, but the microwave was quickly becoming his favorite. Something which was highly disappointing to Natasha, who refused to eat anything that came out of a microwave unless absolutely necessary, and Tony, who was just disappointed that Steve liked the microwave more than any of his inventions.

                Natasha comes in. She ignores the reheated pizza that Clint holds out to her and makes her way to the fridge.

                “Got plans for the night?” Clint asks as she takes out the carton of eggs.

                “Maybe, who’s asking?”

                “Cap, he wants to have a movie night,” Clint asks.

                Natasha puts down the eggs and puts a hand to Steve’s forehead, her lips pursed in concern.

                “He doesn’t feel feverish. You’re not coming down with anything are you?” She asks, the picture of genuine concern.

                “You’re almost as hilarious as Clint. If it helps I can phrase it as a team bonding session,” Steve says shaking off her hand. She smiles.

                “I’ll be free tonight,” she promises.

                With two teammates accounted for, Steve leaves to find the rest of his wayward brood.

                He finds Tony first, which is unsurprising, if Tony isn’t in the kitchen there’s an 84% chance, according to Jarvis, that he’s in his lab. The doors to the lab slide open automatically at his approach. Secretly the doors were another thing about the future that he liked. They just seemed like something out of one a science fiction story, but he’s pretty sure the others would laugh at him if he mentioned being impressed by doors so he keeps that thought to himself.

                “Hey Cap,” Tony says without looking up. He’s working on…well Steve isn’t sure what it is, but Tony’s working very intensely on it. Steve figures it’s probably safe to assume it’s something for the suit.

                “Movie night tonight at 8,” Steve says.

                “What are we watching?”

                “ _Star Trek,”_ Steve says.

                “You do know that’s a multi-season television show not a movie right?” Tony asks as the thing he’s working on starts sparking. Tony smothers the sparks with a rag.

                “Close enough, still starts at eight,” Steve says.

                “Whose idea is that?” Tony asks, trying to salvage what he can from the roasted wires.

                “Mine.”

                Tony looks up at him, “Yours, since when do you institute movie nights or take nights off?”

                “There’s a first time for everything,” Steve shrugs.

                “We’ll I’ll be there. Bruce is meditating right now. Apparently my explosions were ‘distracting’ and my music was ‘too loud’ and ‘annoying.’ When he gets back I’ll let him know.” Tony says.

                Steve nods his thanks and begins looking for Thor. The reactions to his movie night idea had not been unexpected. It was impossible for anyone to suggest anything without a little ribbing from the rest, but was he really that bad about making plans with the others?

                He supposes he is. Out of the ice for almost two years now, it took a while for him to feel comfortable enough in the world. For the first few months after the Chituri battle of New York he had retreated. Determined to catch up on the world he locked himself in his shield issued apartment with a stack of history books and a laptop set up by a sympathetic shield agent. It took Natasha breaking into his apartment to confiscate both to get him back outside. He had resisted at first. There was still too much he didn’t know; jokes that didn’t make sense, references that went over his head, new social norms that he was still trying to understand.

                Natasha had proved herself almost as stubborn as him however, and even more patient as she dropped off movies and books for him almost every few weeks. Clint had been helpful too. For a while Clint had been assigned as his partner. Officially the reason was so Steve could have someone explain how things had changed to him on missions. But Steve was just out of date, not an idiot. He saw the way people looked at Clint. They didn’t trust him after Loki, and they wanted Captain America to be there to put him down if he went rogue again.

                Steve trusted Clint though. He wouldn’t go rogue, and if he did Steve had no plans on putting him down, not when there was a chance he could be saved. Clint had a teasing way about him, that put Steve at ease. It reminded him of Bucky in a way that for once didn’t make his chest ache. He was also good at explaining the parameters of the missions in ways Steve understood, focusing on objectives and strategies and less on tech related details that would have gone right over his head anyway.

                Between the two of then Steve considered himself successfully dragged into the twenty first century. It was a thought that was surprisingly not as painful as he imagined it to be. Although some part of him would always mourn the life he had loss, and according to his extensive google searches on the subject of grief, that was perfectly normal, he genuinely liked living in the future. The food was better, the medical advancements were impressive, and society was slowly but steadily improving. He just wished Peggy, Bucky, and the others had gotten to see it too.

                He finds Thor on the roof.

                “I hope you aren’t leaving. I’ve got a movie night planned,” Steve says. Thor turns at his approach and gives him a toothy grin. Of all his teammates Steve felt a special bond with Thor, who was often as confused and out of sorts about the modern age as himself.

                “Nay Captain, just enjoying the view.”

                “Have you seen _Star Trek?”_ Steve asks.

                “I have not, but I believe it is one that Jane finds most delightful. She is also fond of _Star Wars_ and _Battlestar Galactica_. She has such an appreciation for stars,” Thor says enthusiastically. Steve mentally adds _Battlestar Galactica_ to his list.

                Everything was set up. The food was ordered and sitting on the table. Netflix was cued up for the first episode of the Original Series. Steve had been shocked by the number of spinoffs that existed, and everyone seemed to have a different opinion about which one was the best. After a half hour of bickering it was decided that they should start out with The Original Series, as it was the one that started it all.

                “Director Fury is on line one sir.” Jarvis interrupts.

                “Ignore him,” Tony says, “We’re just about to start.”

                “He says it is of extreme importance,” Jarvis says.

                “Put him through,” Steve says before Tony can argue more.

                “Evening Captain,” Fury says as he appears on the screen.

                “Fury. What seems to be the problem?” Steve asks.

                “Power surge, first recorded a half hour ago in the Adirondacks. At first we thought it was Thor, that’s how high the energy levels spiked. Since then the energy output has remained six times higher than average. I need you guys to check it out.” Fury says.

                “We’re on it,” Steve says. The screen goes black.

                “So no movie night?” Clint asks.

                “Not tonight,” Steve sighs. He casts a longing glance at the food, still steaming hot and untouched, “let’s suit up.”


	2. Hydra Cabin in the Woods

                Clint’s piloting the quinjet, ignoring the way his stomach grumbles. Tony and Bruce are both huddled around the computer reading the data output.

                “These readings are crazy. Hey Thor, one of your buddies doesn’t happen to be dropping in, right?”

                “Not to my knowledge,” Thor says seriously.

                “No, look how steady the readings are holding now. There’s virtually no fluctuation. This is a machine, not a person,” Bruce says.

                “If it’s a machine, do we have any idea what type of machine?” Steve asks.

                “Sorry Cap, not a clue,” Tony says. He looks over the data with a hungry expression. He wasn’t sure what this was, but anything that put out this kind of energy was exciting and full of possibilities.

                Steve turns away to look out the window at the forest below. From so high up, it looks rather peaceful. Steve has a natural aversion to the woods though. A city boy through and through, the forest was the stuff of boyhood legends. Once in fifth grade Bobby Johnson told everyone that his cousin had gone camping in the woods and never came out. Speculation to his fate ranged from bear attack to a mountain man eating him. Then the war came and Steve saw many men enter the forests of Europe and never come out. Overall Steve was a city boy, and no matter how peaceful nature looked he would never trust it as much as some dirty back alleyway in the middle of the city.

                “We’re getting close. If this is a recon mission, not an attack, we might want to park it now and go on foot from here,” Natasha says.

                “Agreed,” Steve says. Clint begins to lower it down. On the ground Steve splits them up.

                “Natasha and Clint scout ahead. Bruce and Thor, hang back, but stay close. Hopefully we won’t need your services. Tony give air support, but try to stay out of sight. I’ll scout out the other way. Everyone keep your comms on.”

                “Yes sir, Cap, sir,” Clint says with a sloppy salute as they all break off. Steve lips tilt up in pride. They had a rocky start, and sometimes in their personal lives things were messy, but out hear in the field they worked like a well-oiled machine. He just wished that any of the boys from the Howling Commandoes were around to see this.

                All forests look the same in Steve’s opinion. He’s sure that’s not objectively true and anyone who knew anything about trees and nature could probably tell him exactly why that’s wrong, but until they did Steve was going to stubbornly cling to the opinion that all forests look the same.

                Alone out here he could almost hear the sounds of machine guns in the distance and angry shouting in German. Tramping through muddy snow, knowing the enemy was doing the same and never knowing exactly when you would cross paths… Steve shivers.

                “Cap, we have eyes on where the energy source is coming from. It looks like a rangers outpost was converted into some sort of lab,” Natasha reports over the comm.

                Her steady voice pulls him back to the presence and he shakes off the lingering chill of past decades. It’s spring now, not winter. It’s the twenty first century not the 1940s. He’s on a mission with the Avengers, not the Howling Commandoes and he needs to focus.

                “Copy that. What’s the security look like?”

                “Guards on the outside. There’s something on the roof…Shit, Stark they’ve got EMP canons.”

                “Tony, out of the air now.” Steve says.

                “I see them. On it – shhhhvvvssssh.”

                The static is abrupt and deafening in their ears.

                “I see him. They’re taking him inside.” Clint reports, his voice calm and professional with only a hint of worry that only those closest to him can pick up.

~*~*~*~

                It’s not Tony’s first time being knocked out of the air by an EMP, but damn is it never a fun experience. Jarvis’s reliable voice in his ear disappears and his world goes black as all the joints lock up and he goes tumbling towards the ground.

                He hits with a clunk. It’s painful, and he’s sure he’s going to be bruised tomorrow, but the suits safety measures were invented for just this type of situation and they perform admirably. Nothing is broken, and he didn’t even lose consciousness.

                He just needs to pull the lever and pop out of the suit and make it to the others. Step one works perfectly. The suit opens and he sits up, none the worse for wear. Step two is an immediate failure because before he can even stand he is surrounded by guards.

                They’re dressed in generic black because villains have no sense of fashion, but the red little octopus pins let him know exactly who he’s facing.

                “Up,” the man closest to him snarls. He’s weaponless but the other men are holding enough firepower that Tony doesn’t argue.

                The leader is tall, blonde and looks almost as muscled out as Steve. Tony dubs him Evil Steve in his head, something that he has no doubt would annoy Cap later. He can’t wait to tell him.

                Evil Steve has two of the guards carry the Ironman suit behind them. Inside, more people, by the looks of them scientists not guards, are working around a large metallic pod. It’s huge, easily big enough for someone to stand in, and Tony can practically feel the electricity it’s throwing off.

                “Intrigued?” Evil Steve asks, seeing Tony stare at it. Tony is, but he doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on glaring at the nearest scientist who is looking up from his work at them curiously. The scientist hastily looks away.

                “I assume if you’re here the other Avengers can’t be far behind. Not that it matters. It’s too late, we’re ready.” Evil Steve continues. He nods and a man who has been in the back steps forward. He is…not what Tony is expecting. He’s wearing dark grey trousers and a button up shirt with suspenders. His hair is slicked back and a fedora is pulled down over his face. He looks like something out of one of the old time movies that Cap likes.

                “Your big plan is a man in an old fashioned suit? Points for originality, but I think the Avengers can take him,” Tony says.  

                “Watch Mr. Stark,” Evil Steve says, unconcerned with the level of snark Tony is displaying.

                The man picks up an equally old fashioned looking briefcase and gun before stepping up to the pod. The pod opens and he steps inside. The machines whirl as the pod closes around him. There is a flurry of activity as the scientists seem to activate every piece of equipment at once. The resulting surge of energy blows every light in the building and, though he’s not near a computer to check, Tony’s pretty sure it’s even greater than the original surge.

                In the darkness the pod opens, revealing an empty space where the man was standing seconds ago.

                “What the hell? Did you just vaporize that guy?” Tony asks.

                “Of course not. He’s been sent on the most important mission anyone in hydra has ever been on; putting an end to Captain America,” Evil Steve says. Tony gives him an unimpressed look.

                “Really? Because he just disappeared and Captain America will be bursting through these doors any second now to save me, so I’m guessing his mission is going to fail,” Tony says.

                “Except there won’t be a Captain America to save you. Steve Rogers is never going to get the chance to save anyone,” Evil Steve says, and the pure joy in his voice sounds shivers down Tony’s spine, “tell me Mr. Stark what year did Captain Rogers receive the super soldier serum?”

                “1941” Tony answers, and Evil Steve nods smugly like he already knows. He leans over, so that he’s uncomfortably close and says in a low voice, like he’s sharing a secret, “That’s why we sent our agent back to 1939.”


	3. Time Machine

                Tony feels a numb panic spreading all over, as he looks at Evil Steve’s gloating face. No more Cap? Who’s going to lead the Avengers then? Forget that, who’s going to stop the Red Skull during World War II?

                The door bursts open and Tony makes an undignified noise, that is lost in the commotion, as he sees Steve throwing his shield and tackling hydra agents like he was born to do it. The knowledge that Steve could disappear at any moment spurs him into action, and he runs clumsily, still sore and in shock, to Steve.

                Natasha and Clint have also joined the fray and he hears Steve order for Thor and the Hulk as back up.

                “No! No Thor, no Hulk,” Tony shouts. It’s too dangerous. With one errant thunderbolt Thor could fry every piece of tech in the room and Tony didn’t even want to think about what a Hulk sized fist could do to the delicate machinery. Machinery that they will need if they are going to save Steve, and they have to save him. He’s never let them down, they can’t let him down. Besides the idea of a small naïve 1930s Steve going about his day, completely oblivious to the danger he’s in makes Tony’s stomach roll uncomfortably.

                Steve cancels the call, trusting but confused. Natasha flips a man twice her size into a wall of computers.

                “No! Don’t damage anything,” Tony shouts. He has no clue if those computers are important, but until he’s sure they aren’t, they can’t risk damaging anything and damning Steve.

                She gives him a significantly less trusting look, “This is no time for your technophile tendencies.”

                “It’s not that. They’re going after Steve. We can’t damage anything if we want to stop them.” He says.

                Steve and Natasha exchange confused looks, but they are in the middle of battle and there’s no time to question Tony or for Tony to explain.

                Clint shoots a man coming up from behind Tony.

                “Cap, make a call.” Clint says.

                Steve gives Tony one last searching look and Tony wills himself to look as sincere as possible, not that it’s hard given the panic racing through him that he’s sure is showing on his face.

                “Take out hostiles, but do your best not to damage the equipment,” Steve commands, and Tony sags in relief.

                Even with their self-imposed handicap the battle doesn’t last much longer. Save for the guards out front, most of the people at the base are scientists who surrender easily.

                Despite his capture and brand new arrow wound, Evil Steve still looks ridiculously smug. He’s watching Cap closely, as is Tony, and Tony knows they are both just waiting for the moment Steve blinks out of reality. Erased, like he was never there to begin with. Tony wonders if he’ll remember Steve if he disappears. Then he wonders if he’ll even be born if Steve disappears. If the Axis win the war Tony can’t imagine them being lenient to anyone who worked too closely with the Allied command, like his father did, and for all his faults Tony knows his father would never side with the Axis, no matter what they offer him.

                As if noticing all the attention, Steve meets their captive’s eyes.

                “You’re looking rather smug for a man who just got captured.”

                Evil Steve shrugs, “I doubt I’ll remain captured for long.”

                Tony can see Steve mind racing, coming to the conclusion that backup may be on their way.

                “He’s not talking backup Cap,” Tony says, “but call Thor and Bruce here. Tell Thor no lightning, and Bruce that he can’t hulk out. I’m going to need his genius.”

                “What’s happening?” Clint asks as Steve makes the call.

                “Bastard told me their plan. I’ll explain when Thor and Bruce get here.” Tony says. He’s restless, as he moves between each computer, checking it over for damage.

                It doesn’t take long for either of them to arrive, both a bit confused by the Captain’s request. Thor has his hammer out just in case, as if he doesn’t believe that there won’t be a need for it.

                “Captain, is the battle over?” Thor asks.

                “I think so,” Steve says and turns to Tony, “is it?”

                “Not quite Cap,” Tony says. He hastily lays out Hydra’s plan. By the end of it all of them are staring at Steve as if they expect him to disappear.

                For his part Steve knows he should feel horrified, and a distant part of his does, but mostly he just feels numb. That part of his life is so far removed from his current life that we he looks back on it, it sometimes feels like he’s looking at someone else’s life, rather than his own. It seems strange to think that the boy who liked to sketch and kept lying on his forms because he just wanted to be a soldier, could be in danger.

                Still the others are worried and they are looking at him for guidance. Steve puts on his Captain America smile, the one that is both commanding and reassuring, and meets Tony’s eyes.

                “Can you figure and Bruce figure out the machinery?” Steve asks.

                “Of course,” Tony says all confidence and bravado, that doesn’t meet his eyes. Steve knows that even Tony is out of his league here. Time travel is something Tony had always insisted was impossible. Steve knows because he asked him not long out after he got out of the ice. Still if anyone was capable of pulling off the scientifically impossible and figuring it out, it would be Tony.

                Tony and Bruce get to work on it immediately, and the others let them get to it on their own afraid of getting in the way and slowing them down, or worse breaking something.

                While they work, Steve begins laying out a battle strategy. Someone will need to stay behind to work the time machine. Bruce would be the best person for that Steve decides. Partly because if something goes wrong with the machinery Bruce will be smart enough to fix it and partly because Steve doesn’t want to risk Hulk tearing apart Brooklyn. That still leaves five of them to track down and neutralize one assassin, which are better odds that they normally have. The hardest part would be blending in and not drawing too much attention to themselves while they are in the past.

                “Natasha, who is in charge of disguises and cover stories at Shield?” Steve asks, realizing that although he’s never utilized that department, surely it must exist.

                “I’ll put in a call. Four authentic 1930 outfits complete with period money.” She says.

                Steve nods, then stops, “Four? No, we need five.”

                The others exchange looks.

                “Sorry Cap, but who do you think is going on this mission?” Clint asks.

                “All of us, except for Bruce. He should stay back to make sure everything works and to bring us home.” Steve says and he sees Bruce nodding approvingly at being left back.

                “And you,” Clint says.

                “Me? I need to go. I know the time period, customs, and geography the best. Besides it’s my life at stake.” Steve says.

                “Yeah and there’s already one of you existing in the past. Who knows what will happen if we put both you in the past at the same time. We might cause a rip in the time stream continuum,” Tony says.

                “You’re joking?” Steve asks, but Tony and the others look deadly serious.

                “I’m pretty sure I’m not going to end the world if I meet myself in the past,” Steve says.

                “Not end the world, put possibly erase yourself,” Bruce pipes up, glancing at them from over a computer screen, “there is a theory about time travel that states matter can only exist in one form, in place, at one time. If we put you and you together you would have one form existing in two places at one time which would cause a paradox. The universe would then self-correct, either by mushing you into one person or by erasing the anomaly altogether.”

                “But that’s just a theory though,” Steve argues weakly.

                “Sorry, but time travel is too new and untested for us to go around risking Captain America like that,” Tony says. Steve looks for any hint of amusement or irony, but all he sees is worry and a seriousness that he doesn’t often associate with the man in front of him. He looks at the others one by one, and sees that poorly disguised worry. There’s an urgency about the way they look at him, as if they are trying to memorize every last detail about him before he’s gone.

                It’s a look he’s seen before. It’s the way soldiers look at each other in the calm between battles, but he has never seen it on their faces before. Despite the truly death defying battles they face, there’s never truly been the fear of death among any of them. They were all too skilled, too well trained, to invincible to be taken down. It’s a dangerous line of thinking, and now that Steve reflects on it he wants to cringe at their collective arrogance. If this is a lesson, about being too cocky about surviving, he’s glad they are learning the lesson with his life on the line as opposed to any of theirs.  

                They are scared for him. If only to relieve some of the fear, Steve backs down. An odd surge of emotions crash against each other in his stomach. Frustration at not being able to go with his team, disappointment and longing at missing out at chance to revisit his childhood haunts, and relief that he won’t have to confront the ghosts of his past. He can’t imagine stepping into the past and not hunting down Bucky and hugging him. Apologizing and refusing to let him go until he promises to never enlist in the first place. But he knows he can’t do that. He can’t jeopardize the mission and he can’t change the past. Bucky died 70 years ago, and he can’t change that. Perhaps it is better that he sit this mission out.

                The tension in the room slowly bleeds out as the plan falls together. Natasha spends most of the time on the phone arguing with seemingly everyone in Shield about pulling together disguises. At one point Steve thinks he hears Fury on the phone, and he grimaces, not looking forward to all the paperwork this little venture is going to produce.

                Meanwhile Tony and Bruce have gotten to the stage where they are discussing powering the time machine. From what Steve can gather whatever the scientists had been using was used up in the sendoff of the assassin. There wasn’t even enough to bring him back, apparently the man was to remain in the past to monitor the war without Captain America.

                Thor is being surprisingly helpful. They are theorizing that Thor may be able to power the machine completely on his own, which is good because it saves time of them having to find an energy source, but is bad because that is one less person they can send into the past. Their numbers are dwindling. It is now three avengers against the assassin. Under normal circumstances those are still swell odds, but Steve’s not sure how any of them will handle the 30’s.

                When Natasha gets off the phone looking satisfied and Tony and Bruce have taken a short break, Steve gathers Clint, Natasha and Tony together to go over some plans and ground rules.

                “Blending in is going to be of utmost importance. You will need to avoid interacting with anybody as much as possible. We don’t want to risk changing history,” Steve says.

                “Yes, yes. We know. We’re not going to Marty McFly anything,” Tony says.

                Steve looks at him blankly and Tony rolls his eyes.

                “Add _Back to the Future_ to the list.”

                “Now, you’re going need to keep a close eye on me,” Steve says, ignoring Tony and picking up where he left off, “but under no circumstances should you make contact with me.”

                He gives them all stern looks.

                Clint grins, “Come on Cap, you can trust us. We won’t let hydra harm a hair on your precious little head.”

                “And?” Steve asks pointedly.

                “And, we’ll do it all without you ever noticing we’re there, like three little guardian angels,” he adds innocently.

                “Avenging angels,” Tony says.

                “Where can we expect to find you?” Natasha asks seriously.

                “In 1939? I was working down at the local grocery store, when I wasn’t working I was usually down at the library. I’ll write down my home address and a few other of my usual haunts,” Steve says thoughtfully. He grabs a pencil and notebook from a nearby table and begins writing.

                “I also have a something for the three of us going back,” Tony says, “I’ve modified our comms. We can’t talk to anyone not in the 30’s, but they should be able to work well enough that we can still talk to each other at least.”

                Clint and Natasha put their newly modified comms back in their ears. Steve nods approvingly.

                Tony and Bruce work throughout the night. Natasha finds a couch in the backroom to curl up on and get some shuteye, while Clint makes do on an old chair. A little after 3 AM when most of the details have been hammered out Steve sends Tony and Bruce off to get some sleep as well.

                “You’re about to take a leap into the past, and you’re going to work the machine that sends him there, I want you both well rested when you do it,” Steve says sternly when they try to protest. Reluctantly, they slink off to find something comfortable to sleep on.

                “You should rest too,” Thor says, “I will stand guard.”

                “Thanks, but I’m too wound up to sleep. I’m going to patrol the perimeter for a bit.”

                Thor gives him a knowing look but allows Steve to leave. He grabs his shield on the way out, but he doubts he will need it. If backup were coming they would have arrived hours ago.

                Outside is cool, the lingering chill of winter in the air now that the sun has set. Normally a night like this would remind him of chilly nights huddled away in tents, too close to the enemy to light a fire, but tonight his mind drifts to an even earlier time. Cold nights in an uninsulated apartment, wrapped in every blanket he owned, with soup cooking on the stove.

                He wonders what his reaction back then would be to getting confronted by someone with a gun, who aimed to kill him. Sure he got into scraps back in the day, but those where all fists and feet. When someone was truly feeling dangerous they’d pull a blade, but Steve hadn’t ever seen a gun up close until he joined the army. It’s hard remembering a time when he was that naïve. A time when the only thing trying to kill him was his tired old heart and pitiful set of lungs.   

                Leaves crackle as the wind brushes past. In the distance animals are going about their business, everything is calm tonight. If he disappears right now he doubts the forest will notice. It’s a humbling thought; that for everything he has affected, there will always be some of corner of the world that will go unchanged by the existence of Steve Rogers. He wonders what will change though. Would the Axis win without him there to stop hydra? He likes to think not. He was just one of a lot of good soldiers, and they were the side with the truly noble cause. It is hard for him to imagine a world where such evil was allowed to actually win. Still, he isn’t willing to take that bet.

                Frustration at not being able to lead this mission rises up again. This is too important for him to do nothing. A fox scampers out of the bushes and Steve jumps, surprised. He collects himself and reminds himself that he is supposed to patrolling, not taking a nighttime stroll. Still, his mind quickly drifts back to the mission. There is nobody he trusts in the twenty first century more than the Avengers. All of them are experts in their field, although admittedly none of their resumes include time travel. Still if anyone has to go back on his behalf, he’s glad it’s them.

                Parameter patrolled and head cleared, Steve heads back inside. Like the steadfast warrior that he is, Thor is still standing guard. Steve gives him a nod and goes off to check on the others. Natasha is curled up like a cat on one end of the couch. Bruce is on the other side of the couch, slumped over the armrest. Clint is sprawled out over a chair, in a way that doesn’t look comfortable. Tony has found another chair, his chin on his chest. Steve gives his team an affectionate smile before searching out his own place to sleep.

                He finds a straight back wood chair. It’s not comfortable, but he’s made due with worse; before, during, and after the war. Sleep doesn’t come easy though, and Steve knows it’s not the chairs fault. Finally as the sun begins peeking over the trees Steve gives up all pretenses of sleep and gets up.    

                He finds Thor exactly where he left him.

                “I’ll take watch from here. Go catch a few hours of sleep,” Steve says. Thor hesitates, not liking the still exhausted look that clings to the corners of Steve’s eyes. Steve pats his arm, “come on. From what Bruce and Tony has said you have a long day coming up and you need a break.”

                It’s friendly, but it’s not a request. It’s an order. Thor has been a warrior long enough to know the difference. He leaves to find a place to sleep.

                The morning is as quiet as the night was. The only disruption comes around 7 AM, before the others have woken up. A small helicopter, with the shield logo on the side, lands in the clearing. Professional looking agents that Steve doesn’t recognize step out and salute him. A blonde woman steps forward confidently.

                “Captain, we’re here to pick up the hostiles.”

                “Good. Yeah. We have them locked in the back room,” Steve says.

                She and two others follow Steve past the sleeping Avengers. He sees one of the agents, a young man, take more than a passing glance and feels a strong surge of protectiveness over her and the rest of sleeping team.

                “Right this way,” Steve says firmly, a bit louder than he intended and Clint snorts before shifting into an even more uncomfortable position and drifting back to sleep. In the back of the building there is a storage room with a lock. Inside scientists and guards are tied up and neatly put in rows along wall. Steve does a quick headcount to be safe and lets out a slight breath when all are present and accounted for.

                “They’re all yours,” Steve says.

                “Thanks, we’ll take them in for questioning. That reminds me. There’s a package back in the copter for you from the Disguises and Cover Story department.

                “Excellent, thank you.” Steve says.

                He helps them load and secure the prisoners into the helicopter and the blonde agent, Agent Carter, hands him a large box.

                “Not sure what you need it for, but good luck.”

                “Thanks,” Steve says giving her a small smile, but doesn’t explain anymore. She doesn’t ask for any details. Steve watches the helicopter take off before he goes back inside to open the box.

                He opens the box and finds two well-made suits, as a dark blue dress for Natasha. The costumes are flawless. Now his only concern is that the three of them are going to look too swanky for the part of Brooklyn they are going to be in. There are also some curlers and bobby pins for Natasha’s hair. At the bottom there is an envelope. He opens it and coins and dollar bills tumble out into his hand. Instantly he can sense something off. The money looks real but the texture is wrong. The bills are too papery and the coins too light. He looks back in the envelope and finds a note tucked inside. It reads:

_Sorry. I know you requested real money from the 1930s, but fake money is the best I can do on such short notice._

                Damn. Fake money isn’t going to cut it. Not that there wasn’t counterfeit changing hands back then, quite a bit actually, but by 1939 shopkeepers and even most laypeople had gotten to be experts at spotting fakes. This wouldn’t fool anyone. It’s a setback, but not an insurmountable one. Lots of people in the 1930s didn’t have money and they made due. Besides, Steve doubts it’s the first time either Clint or Natasha has been dropped off in an unfamiliar location without proper supplies. They’ll make due.

                He glances at the clock. It’s just after eight. Time to rouse the troops and scrounge up something for breakfast. In what is serving as the employee lounge there is a fridge and microwave. The fridge is mostly bare, but in the freezer there are several boxes of frozen dinners. It’s not the most nutritious breakfast, and Natasha won’t be happy about microwave food, but it’s better than nothing.

                Predictably, she isn’t happy when Steve sets down a plate of microwave scrambled eggs in front of her. She scrunches up her nose and covers them in an unhealthy amount of salt, but she eats them without a word. There’s no other food, and she knows it. The others seem oblivious to what they are putting in their mouths. Tony and Bruce are going over with Thor exactly how much energy he will need to generate the machine.

                Clint is inspecting his suit.

                “There’s not a lot of places to hide weapons,” he observes.

                “Most people in the 1930s didn’t need to carry around several weapons,” Steve says.  

                Clint shrugs in agreement. Steve is sure he will find a way to fit every one of his weapons into the suit. He’s seen him hide an ungodly amount of weapons in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip flops before. Natasha also examines her costume with interest, as well as the bobby pins.

                “You’re going to have to help me with the hair,” She tells Steve. It’s been a long time, decades, but Steve can still remember watching his mother in the mirror as she did her hair up for work every day. He nods. It’s harder than he expected. His mother always made it look so graceful, with every last stray hair curled and pinned.

                Natasha winces as he pulls another clump of hair.

                “Sorry,” he says. She bats his hand away and sticks a pin in to keep the curl still. Between the two of them they get a passable hair style.

                “This works,” she says, nodding at herself in the mirror. 

                “The showgirls in the USO always wore their hair in looser styles, but that’s a bit ahead of the time for the 1930s.”

                “I’ll make it work. Maybe, I’ll start a new trend,” Natasha says.

                Steve opens his mouth to remind her not to do anything to change time, but Natasha cuts him off.

                “Kidding Rogers. I don’t think I’m going to ruin the future because my hair isn’t perfectly curled.”

                Steve gives her a sheepish smile. Then he remembers the money situation and hands her the note. A slight frown appears on her face as she reads it over.

                “You’re the expert, are these good enough to fool anyone?” She asks.

                “No, everyone got really good about inspecting money for fakes during the 30’s.” Steve says.

                “I’ll have a long talk with the head of the department when we get back. For now though, we’ll manage,” Natasha says.

                “Good. Tony, go change into your suit. Bruce, do you have an estimate for how much longer until we can start it up?” Steve asks.

                “Give me a half hour and it will be good to go,” Bruce says before turning back to Thor, “now remember, don’t give it too much power or you’ll fry it and we won’t be able to get them back.”

                A nervous energy permeates the base as it gets closer to hour zero. Natasha sits at the table, perfectly composed and still, like a statue. Clint and Tony pull and tug at their suits, which then causes Steve to have to straighten their ties out.

                “You can’t look sloppy,” he scolds distractedly.

                “Of course not. We’re such refined individuals,” Clint says.

                “One of us is at least,” Tony smirks.

“You’re right, Nat is very refined,” Clint responds. Tony elbows him.

                Only Bruce works with the air of calmness about him, as if he isn’t about to send his friends hurtling through space and time with one of the most important missions of their lives.

                “We’re ready,” Bruce says finally.

                Natasha, Clint, and Tony march inside. It’s a tight fit with the three of them, but they manage. Steve racks his brain for any more tidbits of advice to give them.

                “Don’t refer to World War I as World War I, call it The Great War if it comes up. Try not to talk politics with anyone, um…”

                “Steve, we aren’t going to talk to anyone. We’re going to find the hydra agent and we’ll be back home before you know it. And if you’re good and don’t give yourself an aneurysm from stress maybe we’ll even bring you home a souvenir.” Tony says. Steve rolls his eyes, but feels himself relax in the presence of Tony’s complete confidence.

                “I’ve calculated it that you should arrive less than an hour after the assassin.” Bruce tells them, “Tony and I also found these.”

                He holds up what looks like a walkie-talkie.

                “I believe we should be able to communicate with these across time. This is how you’ll let us know you completed your mission so we can bring you back.”

                He hands the walkie-talkie to Tony.

                “Good luck,” Bruce says as the doors close. Thor raises his hammer. Electricity crackles as lightening shoots from the sky. With expert precision Thor aims it where Bruce directs him too. Machines whirl and buzz. A white light flashes.


	4. Brooklyn

The white light fades away. The sounds of people and cars, so different from the quiet lab, surround them.

“It worked.” Tony says, a slight bit of awe leaks into his voice as he stares at Brooklyn circa late 1930s.

“I can’t believe it.” Clint mutters as a grin spreads across his face.

“Come on. We need to move it and find Cap.” Natasha says. She looks at the addresses Steve hastily scrawled on a notepad for her, “We’ll split up. I’ll check his apartment, Tony you check the grocery store, and Clint you take the library.”

“Yes Ma’am” Clint mock salutes.

“And remember, try not to interrupt history too much. This is a stealth mission.” Natasha says seriously, giving Tony a firm glare.

“Hey! I can be stealthy.” Tony says tipping his fedora at her. Not convinced, she rolls her eyes and watches as both men saunter down the street, easily blending in with the men of the day. She smooths out a wrinkle in her dress and heads in the opposite direction.

~*~*~*~

Tony is smirking in delight at the possibility of catching a glimpse of Cap restocking shelves. It is such a mundane activity for a future avenger that it bordered on absurd. However, with each empty aisle he walks down and nary a tiny Captain in sight his smile dims.

“Clint better not be the first one to find him and have all the fun.” He mutters to himself walking out of the store intent on meeting up with Clint at the nearby library.

It’s a very faint sound that stops him. The sound of something crashing into metal garbage cans. Then he hears it again. Curious, Tony follows the noise to behind the store. In a pile of overturned trash cans a large dark haired man has a much smaller man by the front of the shirt.

“Hey, get off of him,” Tony barks. The man looks up, angry at being interrupted. Tony raises an eyebrow at him and gives him a sneer that once made an intern cry. The man lets go of the other guy and stomps away, trying to look like he is leaving because he wants to and not because he is being forced to. Tony watches him go.

“Thanks, but I had a handle on the situation.” A familiar voice says. Tony stifles a gasp as he turns to look at a pair of very familiar blue eyes on an unfamiliarly thin face. Tony schools his face into a laid back smirk.

“Of course you did.” Tony says. Steve narrows his eyes, like he doubts Tony’s sincerity. Tony’s smile widens at the familiar expression.

“I better be off.” Steve says brushing back alley dirt off his shirt and brushing past Tony. Tony watches him go until he’s a safe distance away before he begins following him.

“Guys, I found him.” Tony whispers into the comm. He realizes in this pre-bluetooth age he should probably be as discrete as possible about talking into it.

“Where?” Clint’s voice cackles in his ear.

“Just leaving the store. We should be passing the library soon.” Tony says.

~*~*~*~

In the lab Bruce keeps a close eye on the machinery serving as a link between the two times. Steve is quietly keeping guard before he winces and grabs his head.

“You ok Steve?” Bruce asks.

“I think…I think I’m having a new memory.” Steve pauses and tilts his head, “dammit Tony, what do you not understand about covert missions.”

“What happened?” Bruce asks.

“Tony talked to me…past me.” Steve says.

“Did he catch the assassin?”

“No, just saved me from a couple of extra bruises from a common bully.” Steve says. He shakes his head. The new memory clear in his mind as if had only happened seconds ago instead of decades. The original memory still exists too, but faded and blurred as if it was a memory of a dream and not an event.

~*~*~*~

“He’s so short.” Clint says downright gleeful as Tony and he follow Steve from a distance.

“Sound’s the same though and he’s still got the same suspicious disapproving face,” Tony informs him.

“Focus guys.” Natasha says over the comm.

“Don’t be grumpy because you’re the only one who doesn’t get to enjoy the experience of being taller than Captain America,” Clint says. 

“Just watch for the assassin,” Natasha says. Tony scans the people on the street, while Clint keeps his eyes focus up on the rooftops for a possible sniper.

A man in a trench coat loiters on the corner. At first Tony’s eyes skim past him. He does a double take when he sees the man’s eyes fixated on an oblivious Steve Rogers. Tony takes off sprinting, Clint only seconds behind.

Multiple things happen almost simultaneously. First the man slips a knife out of his coat pocket. As he brings it down Tony tackles Steve to the ground. Original target safely out of the way the knife continues its trajectory hitting Clint in the side, who ignores the wound. The man takes off running, dropping the bloody knife. Clint takes off after him.

“What the hell. Get off of me!”

Tony looks down at a very disgruntled Steve. He rolls to the side.

“You alright kid?” He asks.

“I was fine until you decided to bowl me over.” Steve says, ignoring the hand Tony offers. He stands up and brushes off the dirt.

“He was going to stab you.” Tony says, nodding at the bloody knife on the ground.

“Why? And how did you know? And were you following me this whole time?” Steve asks accusingly.

Tony ignores the first two questions.

“Yes, I was, but only because I was worried about you making it home safely after that scuffle you were in,” he lies smoothly. Tony hadn’t expected a ‘Thank you,’ but he did expect at least a little gratefulness for saving his life. Instead Steve’s face twists into a frown, “I can handle myself, pal. I don’t need someone hovering.”

“Excuse me? Without my ‘hovering’ you would have gotten stabbed,” Tony snaps.

“Not your problem. You don’t even know me.” Steve says before pushing past Tony. Stunned by the posturing he just witnessed Tony lets him go, making no move to follow.

On his way home Steve can’t stop turning around. He knows he must seem paranoid but he can’t help it. The sharp dressed man with the goatee had already followed him once. He certainly didn’t want the man to know where he lived, he seemed like a real loony. Steve was more concerned about him than the man who tried to stab him. Steve hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, but this wouldn’t be the first time some bully had pulled a knife on him. Every once in a while someone got it into their head that if a beating wouldn’t stop his smart mouth than a knife would. He’d probably hear who had tried it through the grapevine of nosy neighbors and then Bucky would straighten the fellow out. With one last look around to be safe, Steve turns onto his home street.  


	5. Stalking Steve

                “I can’t believe that you just let him get away,” Tony complains from his spot as look out. The three of them have gathered down an alleyway. Clint has returned bloody yet empty handed. He glares at Tony as Natasha dresses his wound with bandages she stole from a local shop on the way.

                “Doesn’t matter, he’s going to try again. We’ll be ready this time.” Natasha says firmly. When Tony opens his mouth to make a sarcastic comment she shoots him a deadly glare and he hastily shuts it.

                “Alright, who has first dibs on Cap babysitting duty?” Clint asks.

                “I’ll do it,” Natasha volunteers, “Tony you can relieve me at sun up, just in time for his shift at the grocery store, and Clint you can take the evening shift.”

                Wound bandaged to her liking, Natasha brushes her hair back into place. The curls have fallen out and she hasn’t bothered to replace them.

                “You two find a place for us to camp out and something for us to eat.” She commands before disappearing around the corner. Nighttime stake outs are rarely interesting, she doubts nighttime stakeouts in the 30’s will be any better.

                Steve lives in what will be a very nice neighborhood by the 21st century. Gentrification and a reputation as being “cool” will easily make this area one of the most expensive places in the city. For now though, it is obvious that the neighborhood has been hit hard by the depression. More buildings are dark and empty, despite the number of homeless she passed on the street. She’s glad, and perhaps a bit proud in a sisterly way, to see that Steve has managed to find himself a nice little apartment on the second floor of a big brick building.

                Across the street another building, that looks like it was also once an apartment building is empty. She makes herself comfortable in the apartment directly across from his, where she gets a good view of him from the two windows his apartment has.

                She watches him in the kitchen adding vegetables to a pot and occasionally stirring it. She wonders if Cap still cooks. If he still makes everything the old fashioned way occasionally, forgoing the convenience of microwaves and canned soup that she knows he has grown to love. Natasha makes a note to ask him later.

                Natasha tenses as another person enters her view from the window. The dark haired man looks exhausted and dirty, like he’s been working at the docks all day. Natasha prepares her gun, just in case, but relaxes when the most threatening thing the man does to Steve is steal his bowl and then ladle himself some soup. Steve, for his part, only smiles at the man. Then it clicks, this must be Bucky Barnes. Cap had mentioned rooming with him before the war. Putting down her gun and resettling herself Natasha watches the domestic scene of two boys out on their own for the first time, oblivious to the war that looms in their future.    

                Meanwhile Tony and Clint are wandering up and down the streets, mutual looks of frustration on their faces.

                “I’ve never been homeless or without money, how the hell should I know where to look?” Tony says. When Natasha had first assigned them their mission neither had been too concerned. Clint had spent time in his youth on the streets and more than one mission had gone south in a way that left him basically homeless. However he had never experienced homelessness quite like New York City in 30s homelessness. Every shelter they had gone to had turned them away, overflowing with regulars. Other places, which Clint knew from experience, made good places to hide out were also overrun by homeless, who didn’t take kindly to strangers in their territory.

                As they debate where to look next, and possibly who is going to tell Natasha that they failed their task they hear Natasha over the comms.

                “I’m in the apartment across from Cap. This will make a good place to set up camp.”

                “Thank God,” Tony mutters as Clint responds that they are on their way. Clint steals a few apples from a cart and Tony manages scam a loaf of bread from the bakery using the name “Stark” as they make their way to Natasha.

                Clint throws Natasha an apple as they enter the little apartment.

                “This will do. It’s not as nice as the accommodations we found, but it’s not bad.” Tony says. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him before turning back to the windows. Steve has moved from the kitchen window to the living room window. He sits on a threadbare couch sketching, a familiar look of concentration etched on his face. Next to him Bucky is fiddling with an old fashioned radio. From their look out place they can’t hear the song, but from the way Bucky bobs his head they can guess it’s a jaunty big band song.

                “He looks happy,” Clint observes.

                “He always does when he’s drawing.” Tony says.

                “No this is different. He looks peaceful. He did when he was walking home too,” Clint says.

                “You mean right before he got stabbed. He didn’t look very peaceful then. Didn’t look very peaceful when he was getting his assed kicked either,” Tony says shortly.

                “Don’t be such a grump Stark,” Clint frowns.

                “I’m not being a grump. It’s just that…we can travel through time now. If Steve does really like it better here, we can send him home,” Tony says.

                “No. It’s too risky, what if he meets himself and blows up time or something,” Clint scoffs.

                “Not if he returns after he goes into the ice. He could have that life with Peggy that he always wanted,” Tony says quietly.

                “He would never do it. It’s still too risky, who knows how his presence would change history. Besides he wouldn’t abandon the avengers” Natasha says.

                “Good point. He is way too noble to just abandon his teammates so he can have a nice peaceful life,” Clint says.

                “Does that really make it better? The knowledge that Steve would probably rather be here, but he’s giving it up because we need him?” Tony says. The other two don’t have a good answer for that. They all go back to watching Steve through the window. He has finished whatever masterpiece he had been working on and is proudly showing it off to Bucky.

                ~*~*~*~

                The next morning Tony is rudely awakened by repeated pokes in his side.

                “Go aw’y” he mumbles.

                “Get up. Cap is almost done with his breakfast. He’s going to leave soon.”

                Tony looks up at Natasha’s tired face. He sits up. From the window he can see Steve enjoying a light breakfast, looking annoyingly awake and cheerful. Apparently it wasn’t the serum that made him such an obnoxious morning person.

                “How’d the stakeout go?” Tony asks quietly. Clint is still asleep, curled up on a left behind rug.

                “Quiet. No attempts,” Natasha reports.

                Steve leaves his apartment building. Moments later, so does Tony. He follows at a safe distance. He’s not quite sure what Steve would do if he caught sight of him for a third time. Probably try to fight him. That might be interesting, Tony thinks with a small smile, a fight against Cap where he could win without using the suit.

                Steve makes it to work on time, like the good boy he is, Tony thinks with a smirk. Tony pretends to shop, discretely watching as Steve sweeps the floor and restocks the shelves. He finds himself enjoying his mission, despite the fact that it isn’t even 10 AM yet. He’s never seen Steve so unguarded before. Things are going so well that he doesn’t notice the new arrivals at first.

                It’s a group of three guys. From the looks of them they just got off a night shift down by the docks. They’re young, and probably not bad fellows, but it’s been a long night for them and they’re feeling a bit rowdy.

                It starts off harmlessly enough. A playful shove sends one guy stumbling into a shelf knocking off a box of cereal, that they don’t bother to pick up. The retaliating shove, which is much harder, claims a glass jug of milk which shatters to the floor. They don’t care. At first Steve is patient as he follows them around cleaning up after them as their game continues. But it is the 30’s and with so many people hungry it irks Steve to see food go to waste.

                Technically he doesn’t have the authority to kick anyone out, but Mr. Dilworth is a sweet older man who trusts Steve’s judgement with these types of things.

                “Hey fellas. I think it’s time for you to leave,” Steve says firmly but politely.

                “You can’t kick us out, we’re paying customers,” one complains. Tony notices that he was the one who instigated the shoving match in the first place.

                “Are you going to pay for the milk, or the other food ruined?” Steve asks.

                “Those were accidents.” It’s not a real answer. Steve frowns.

                “Like I said. I think you should be going now.”

                For a tense moment Tony thinks there is going to be a fight, and three against one aren’t fair odds, especially when Steve doesn’t even way half as much as the smallest guy there. Then the biggest guy, clearly the leader, smiles, “sure pal. We’ll be on our way.”

                Steve watches them leave, his shoulders tense. When they disappear through the door he relaxes, believing the situation done. Tony has his doubts. Tony has been called paranoid before, by many people actually, including Steve. However, Tony hardly counts it as being paranoid if he’s right. So after doing a quick scan around the store to make sure the assassin isn’t going to pop out from behind a shelf of bread Tony follows them outside.

                He doesn’t have to go far. He finds them smoking right around the corner, eyes trained on the door, obviously waiting for someone to come out. Tony can imagine Steve obliviously walking out the doors, tired after a long day of work, being caught off guard by a three to one assault. It makes Tony’s blood unexpectedly boil. He’s surprised with himself. This would hardly be the worst fight Cap has gotten himself into, and the fact that there is a Cap hanging around the 21st century proves that this fight wouldn’t have any lasting damage on him. But for some reason this bothers him. Maybe it’s the fact that Tony is only used to seeing Steve actually win the fights he gets into, or maybe it’s the fact that Tony knows the war will be starting in a few short years and this is the most peaceful Steve’s life is ever going to get, but something about this fight bothers him more than it should.

                “Hey, get out of here!” Tony says authoritatively, “go on scram.”

                Surprise flashes across three faces as they realize Tony is talking to them.

                The leader recovers first, “make us.”

                The men are half his age and in good shape. Loading cargo ships, have done wonders for their biceps. Tony doesn’t even have his suit. But these men had never gotten into a fight more serious than a bar brawl and Tony has been sparring with none other than Captain America for months.

                Tony can’t help the pleased smirk on his face when he tosses the last one standing over his shoulder in a move Steve had taught him last month. The man hits the ground with a very satisfying crunch. Leaving them to lick their wounds, Tony returns to the store to continue his original mission of watching Steve.


	6. Shot

                Clint is waiting outside when Steve finishes his shift. Tony gives Clint a nod and a shrug as if to say all was quiet and Clint nods in understanding. They don’t walk next to each other as they follow Steve back to his tiny apartment. For the next three days they fall into a steady routine of following Steve to work and then back home. It seems Steve has as much as a social life now as he does back in their time. Occasionally Bucky stops into the store, but neither seem inclined to go out at night. Clint wonders if they really enjoy quiet evenings or if it’s a lack of funds keeping them inside.

                There hasn’t been any sign of the assassin although whoever isn’t on Steve duty at any given time is looking for leads. So far they’ve come up empty.

                It’s the weekend now and Steve’s first day off. Tony has to admit he’s a little excited to see how Steve spends it; smoking on the corner with other boys his age, getting drunk, sleeping in past 9 AM, something Tony had ever seen Cap do after really exhausting late night missions.

                “We’re in a library,” Tony says sourly over the comms to Clint and Natasha.

                “Well, what did you expect? It’s Cap.” Natasha asks. He can hear her trying to keep the amusement out of her voice at his disappointment.

                “I expected him not to be completely boring on his day off,” Tony says.   

                “He can’t help it. Being wholesomely boring is part of his charm.” Clint says.

                “Bucky invited him to go drinking with him and some of his work buddies and he said no. I almost got the pleasure of witnessing Cap drunk –a rare sight that has been lost to history— and he said no. Because he wanted to get some reading done. Because he’s boring.” Tony complains.

                “We’ll figure out a way to get Steve drunk,” Clint promises. Tony is only slightly mollified. He watches Steve check out _The Hobbit_ and makes a mental note to show Steve the movie when all this is over.

                Steve makes polite conversation to the little old lady at the front desk. Tony pretends to gag over the comms because it’s such a Steve thing to do. Tony can’t help but to notice the way Steve shivers as he steps outside. It’s a chilly October day and Steve doesn’t even have a jacket. Tony feels a strong urge to scold him, if it wouldn’t blow his cover. When Steve had first left the apartment that morning Natasha’s lips had been pressed in a thin line, as if she was physically restraining herself from shouting down at him to put a jacket on. Clint and Tony had laughed at her, but now Tony really wished she had yelled at him.

                “Steve Rogers?” A voice says. A man steps out of one of the many little mom & pop stores that line the street.

                _Shit._ Steve turns towards the voice curiously.

                “Found the assassin” Tony pants over the comms as he races from his hiding spot half a block away.

                “Hail Hydra.” He raises a gun and fires. Tony watches Steve fall and his heart stops beating. The assassin runs off but Tony doesn’t pay attention.

                “Cap’s down. I repeat Cap’s down.” Tony says as he stumbles to Steve’s side. He’s bleeding. Tony has seen Steve bleed before. He’s also seen Steve shot before. It’s never pleasant watching him catch a bullet with his body, but this was far more panic inducing. He’s so small now and he doesn’t have much blood to waste painting the sidewalk.

                “Steve!” Tony presses on the wound. Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gasping for air. Tony prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that Steve doesn’t give himself an asthma attack.

                “Hold on Steve. It’s gonna be ok.” Tony assures Steve. He doubts Steve is listening. He takes the pressure off the wound long enough to peel back Steve’s shirt. He nearly sobs in relief at what he sees.

                Steve will be mildly disappointed to know that his steller reputation at the library is about to be ruined when he sees the condition of the book, but the hard cover book he had been holding against his chest when the shot was fired was just enough to deflect the bullet, to just below his ribs. It is still a serious shot, but not nearly as bad as it could have been.

                Heart stopping terror fading into a more comfortable heart pounding terror, Tony realizes that both Natasha and Clint are screaming into the comms.

                “He’s alive,” Tony says, “aren’t you buddy?” Tony applies more pressure on the wound. By the time Natasha and Clint arrive the bleeding is beginning to stop.

                Neither Natasha nor Clint is a stranger to patching bullet wounds in the field. They’ve patched up teammates, civilians, and even themselves on occasion. Still, Clint still nearly throws up when he sees Steve lying there, covered in his own blood. Natasha’s professional blank mask is firmly in place, but her hands shake slightly as she takes over for Tony. Tony moves to Steve’s head, never stopping a quiet litany of encouragement. Steve doesn’t acknowledge any of them, too focused on breathing without screaming.

                They have him stitched and bandaged in record time. Steve’s not unconscious, but he’s definitely not fully present at the moment. It sends a fresh wave of nausea through Clint to think about, because any other day Steve would have shrugged off that shot as a flesh wound.

                “What do we do now?” Tony asks.

                “We can’t take him to a hospital. We won’t be able to keep an eye on him.” Natasha says.

                “We could bring him back to his apartment.” Clint suggests.

                “No, Bucky will ask questions and if he finds out Steve’s been shot he might get the police involved, or make Steve go to the hospital, or both.” Tony says.

                “Then we take him back to our place where we can keep an eye on him.” Natasha decides.

                “So we kidnap him.” Clint says.

                “It’s not kidnapping, if it’s to save his life,” Natasha snaps, the stress of seeing Steve bloody and vulnerable getting to her.

                “I don’t think that’s how kidnapping laws work, but I agree that he’s safest with us. Right now the bastard probably thinks he’s killed Steve, but if he realizes he messed up, he’ll be back.” Tony says. 

                With that disquieting thought Clint picks up Steve as if he were a child. It’s almost painful how little he weighs.

                “Put me down,” Steve squirms, blinking through his haze of pain and blood loss. Clint holds him a bit tighter, “It’s ok. We’re taking you someplace safer.”

                It’s clear that Steve wants to fight, or at least argue, but his body can barely handle the punches it takes on a regular bases, the bullet wound is far too much for it to handle. He passes out before they make it all the way down the street.

~*~*~*~

The 21st Century

                "Steve!"

                “Captain!”

                Steve jerks back into consciousness from where he had been zoning out, "what happened?"

                "You just...flickered. What the hell happened?" Bruce asks.

                "I got shot" Steve says as memories assault his mind. The phantom pain of a bullet wound twinges and Steve lifts his shirt to look at unblemished skin. Of course it is unblemished, the serum had taken care of any scars he’s ever had, but now that he thinks about it there had been a scar there right up until the day he was injected. Though if he thinks about it a little harder he also has a set of memories that says there had never been a scar there. It is all very confusing.

                "You almost died and erased yourself from history" Bruce says accusingly.

                "Not my fault. The others were supposed to prevent this" Steve says, shifting a bit guiltily under Bruce and Thor’s reproving stares as if actually had something to feel guilty about.

                "Let's hope it doesn't happen again" Bruce says. He turns back to the machines, but Steve can see the way he keeps sneaking glances at him, as if he's afraid Steve will flicker again. Steve grips the table tightly, hoping that it will somehow anchor him to the here and now.

                “I wish I could have gone back as well Captain. I would slay that man where he stood,” Thor says hotly.

                “I know you would, but we need you here,” Steve says with a slight smile. Thor doesn’t look mollified. The air crackles with energy at his displeasure.

                “Hey, if you’re going to do that, take it outside. We can’t risk damaging the equipment,” Bruce says. Thor looks ready to storm off, but he hesitates, not wanting to leave Steve to suffer and worry alone.

                “Go on, blow off some steam. I promise I’ll be here when you get back.” Steve says. They both know that it’s a promise he can’t really guarantee, but he says it with all the confidence of a true leader and Thor can feel himself calming. Steve has that way about him, Thor has noticed. A way of making everything seem like it’s going to be alright, even during the darkest of hours. His father has a similar ability, and Thor hopes that someday he will have that ability too. It’s the mark of a great leader.

                Steve watches him go, then for lack of anything better to do, and because he can't stand just sitting around he casts his mind back to 1939, trying to remember every detail that he can for something helpful. Nothing it’s all a blur of jumbled memories that haven’t been clearly formed yet.


	7. A Little Talk

 

                When Steve wakes up the first thing he notices is how much his side hurts, just below the ribs. It burns in a way that almost cancels out how cold he feels. He shivers. Someone has draped a worn blanket over him. It’s a thoughtful gesture, but it doesn’t do much to protect him from the cold wood floor he’s lying on. Which is strange, because he definitely wasn’t lying on a wood floor when he passed out. He looks around in the dim light. This isn’t his apartment either. That realization sends him sitting up. He gasps as the sharp pain in his side makes his vision go blurry.

                “Lay down,” a voice says gently. A woman’s voice. For one confused jumbled up second Steve thinks it’s his mother’s voice. Then he catches sight of a red headed woman curled up on a chair watching him.

                He blinks at her.

                “Lay down.” She repeats.

                Clearly he’s dreaming. It’s really the only thing that makes sense. His last fight ended with him getting hit a bit too hard and now he’s dreaming he is in a strange apartment with a strange lady. Perhaps she’s supposed to be his sister in this dream, because that’s the first thought that comes to his mind when he looks at her. The way a small worried frown tugs at her lips and her eyes are watching him closely for any signs of discomfort; she looks at him exactly like how Bucky looks at him. He lays back down, exhausted but comforted by thought of his dream sister watching over him. As he drifts off to sleep, his last fleeting thought is how he wished it could have been his mother.

                The next time Steve wakes up light is streaming through the window. His dream sister is still sitting in the chair, dozing this time. He blinks. He blinks again. She doesn’t disappear and Steve is pretty sure he is awake and lucid this time. Not a dream then. Steve looks around. A dark haired man and blonde man are arguing, trying to keep their voices low. Steve recognizes the dark haired man immediately. He thinks he might recognize the blonde man too, but his memories of yesterday are a bit fuzzy.

                His side stings painfully in a way that makes his chest tight and he focuses on keeping his breathing steady.

                “Are you crazy Barton? He’s never going to believe that.” The dark haired man scoffs. He’s animated, never fully sitting still despite how tired he looks.

                “Then what do you think we should tell him?” The other man, Barton, asks.

                “How about the truth?”

                Both men jump at the sound of his voice. To be perfectly honest Steve is a bit surprised with himself as well. The dark haired man flashes him a dazzling grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

                “Steve, good to see you awake. How ya feeling?”

                Steve cocks his head at the stranger, glaring. Not sure how to answer, or even interpret, the question he ignores it.

                “Who are you?” Steve asks furiously, “You’re the loony who has been following me. What’s your problem pal? Why are you stalking me?” 

                The two men share a look. Barton opens his mouth and then closes it.

                "Can you give us a moment before we answer that?" The dark haired man says. Steve looks like the only thing keeping him from jumping up and punching the both of them is the bullet wound in his side, keeping him from making any fast movements. Instead, Steve contents himself by trying to burn a hole in their heads through sheer force of will. The two men do their best to ignore the uncomfortable glare.

                "Tell him the truth. He's not stupid and this will be easier for us if he trusts us." The woman is sitting up now, looking alert.

                "Yeah, but Cap said-"

                "Yeah, well Cap's plan to stay incognito went out the window when we let him get shot." She says flatly.

                "And I think I have a right to know why someone tried to kill me" Steve says, inserting himself back into the conversation. He gives them all his sternest look. The one that even makes Bucky back down occasionally when he's being too smothering.

                "He's giving us his disproving look. We can't lie to Cap’s disapproving look" the dark haired man groans, and if he hadn't sounded so sincere, Steve would have suspected that he was being made fun of.

                "Alright, alright. The truth. I'm Clint Barton, that's Natasha Romanov, and he's Tony Stark." The blonde man says.

                "Stark, are you related to Stark Industries?" Steve asks. Tony's lip twitch.

                "Kid, I own the company"

                "No you don't. Howard Stark does. You guys promised me the truth. That wasn't even a good lie. Half the papers are talking about Howard Stark right now" Steve scowls at them.

                "Actually, Howard Stark is my father" tony says, and there is a note of bitterness in his tone that nobody presses.

                Instead Steve zeroes in on this new lie, "He's too young to have a son your age."

                If this was some bizarre attempt to distract him from the truth it is a very poor attempt.

                "Now he is, but someday he's going to be my father" Tony says. Steve cocks his head. Maybe these people weren't trying to lie to him. Maybe they were just crazy. He glances at the door, be doubts he could make it before someone tackled him. They all looked in much better shape than him. Plus, walking right now seems like a monumental task at the moment.

                "Time travel Steve, we’re from the future." Natasha says bluntly, clearly impatient with the way the other two are dancing around saying it. Oh, so definitely crazy then. Maybe he should try for the window. Natasha follows his gaze.

                "Don't you dare try to jump out the window. We aren't crazy." She says.

                "Besides we can prove it" Clint says. He takes something small and black out of his ear. He approaches Steve slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. Steve holds out his hands expecting Clint to drop it in them. He ignores Steve’s hands and hooks it around his ear.

                "Testing. Testing. Steve Rogers" Tony says and Steve's eyes grow wide when he realizes that Tony’s voice is right in his ear. He pokes the device.

                "A radio?" He asks.

                "Sort of. A communicator" tony says.

                "Where are the wires?"

                "Doesn't need them" tony says.

                “It’s so small,” Steve says in awe.

                “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before have you?” Tony asks. Steve shakes his head.

                "Did you invent this?" Steve asks, taking it out of his ear to examine it closer.

                "Nah, I invent impressive things. That's nothing special." Tony says.

                "Seems pretty swell to me" Steve says handing it back to Clint, "so you really are from the future...but why did someone try to kill me?"

                The three exchanged looks.

                "How up are you on current events?" Tony asks.

                "Enough. I read the papers. Is this about the war? War is coming, isn't it? Hitler just invaded Poland last month." Steve says.

                "Yeah, war is gonna happen. Good news; we win. Bad news; hydra is a bunch of sore losers so they are trying to change the outcome of the war in their favor."

                "Tony, I said tell the truth, not tell him everything" Natasha snaps.

                "Hydra? That's what the man who shot me said. Why did he want to kill me, I've got nothing to do with the war" Steve says

                "Not yet, but trust me you've got a part to play. One that hydra very much wants you not to play. That's why we're here. We'll be your personal body guards until we can nab the wanna-be assassin and take him back to our time" Tony says.

                Steve shakes his head, "I believe you're from the future and all, but I think you might have the wrong Steve Rogers. You're probably looking for a soldier or politician or something."

                "Trust me kid, I've met you, and you are definitely you," Tony says. Steve gives him a doubtful look, like he's questioning both the truth of Tony's claim and his sanity.

                “Okay pal,” Steve says neutrally, and Tony isn’t fully sure if he believes him or not. Steve checks his watch, “I’m late for work. I have to go.”

                “Right now, Hydra thinks you’re dead, but it probably won’t stay that way for long,” Natasha says stopping him, “We have to keep you safe until we can catch him and bring him back to our time.”

                “Plus you just got shot yesterday, so I’m pretty sure that’s grounds for a day off,” Clint adds.

                “I have to go in,” Steve says attempting to stand up. It doesn’t work.

                “We just told you that you’re important to the entire future and you want to put it all at risk so you can work at a grocery store?” Tony asks. Steve glares at him and then looks away his cheeks flushing.

                “I need the rent money,” He says quietly. There’s a bit of a stunned silence. Clint recovers the quickest, “We will get you the rent money, just stay here.”

                “What am I supposed to tell Mr. Dilworth? What am I supposed to tell Bucky? They’ll both have a fit if they know I’ve been shot.” Steve says.

                “No, nobody is allowed to know that. Everything we told you is strictly confidential,” Natasha says.

                For a second it looks like Steve is going to argue. They tense ready for an argument. All of them have argued with Steve before, Tony on average once a day, so they knew what to expect; a long drawn out debate where voices were never raised, but tempers flare. Then Steve deflates, arguments never leaving his lips.

                “Sure thing, can I at least go change my shirt?” He asks. He plays self-consciously with what is left of his shirt, stained with dried blood.

                “I’ll walk you to your apartment.” Clint volunteers. Steve looks at him and then out the window, where there is a clear view of Steve’s empty apartment.

                “I think I can make it there and back without dying,” Steve says and there is an edge in his voice that suggests that this time he won’t back down.

                “Of course, we’ll just keep watch from over here then.” Tony says smoothly.  Steve hurries out of the room as fast as he can go, as if afraid that if he lingers too long they will try to follow him. His whole body aches and tingles with exhaustion. He’s careful to keep any expression of pain off his face as he walks across the street, mindful of three sets of eyes him.

                Steve keeps his head down as he enters his apartment building. He’s not too concerned about anyone making a fuss, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s come home covered in his own blood, but better safe than sorry. He enters his apartment and looks out the window. He can see the three of them standing at the window, not even trying to be subtle about watching him. It’s creepy and he fights the urge to close the curtains. He doubts that will do anything, but send them running over to knock down his door. Steve flashes them a thumbs up to show that he made it across the street with no attempts on his life.

                Leaving them to their stakeout, Steve goes into his room and changes his clothes, tossing his now unusable shirt in the trash. Bloodstained that it is, it wouldn’t even make a usable rag. More importantly, he would prefer Bucky not to see just how blood soaked his shirt had become.

                Speaking of Bucky… It wasn’t the first time one of them hadn’t come home for the night. Both were grown men, free to come and go as they pleased. But if he didn’t come home and missed his shift Steve was sure Bucky was going to be concerned. Steve knows he can’t tell Bucky the truth. Even if he could, he really doesn’t want to tell Bucky that an assassin from the future is out for his blood. He can’t imagine any way to have that conversation that doesn’t end with Bucky forcibly hiding him under the bed for his own protection.

                Still he can’t just disappear on his best friend. He grabs his drawing pad and pencil. He scribbles out a quick note.

_Hey Buck,_

_Got into a nasty fight last night. Mrs. Connell saw the whole thing and made me spend the night. You know how she frets about me. It’s like she thinks I go out looking for trouble. Anyway, I missed the first part of my shift for work, so I’m going to stay late to make up for it. Not sure when I’ll be home. Try not burn the apartment down trying to cook your own dinner._

_Steve_

                He rereads the letter. Nothing suspicious about it and Mrs. Connell’s memory has gotten so bad she wouldn’t remember even he had stayed the night at her place. Satisfied he leaves the note out of view of the others, but where Bucky will easily find it. Steve isn’t sure if the other’s will approve of it, but he really doesn’t care, they can’t just expect him to drop everything and hide under a rock until they get a handle on their assassin problem. Besides, he’s not fully sure of how much he trusts them. Their story is outlandish. He isn’t even sure which part is the most unbelievable; the time travel or the fact that someone who had the power of time travel would waste time going after him.

                It was strange though, how quickly he had believed him. A voice in his head, that sounded a lot like Bucky, chides him on his gullibility…but despite that he couldn’t bring himself to disbelieve them. It wasn’t even the communicator device that convinced him either, it was the way they looked at him, like they knew him. The way Natasha had watched over him last night, or the way Clint and Tony kept smiling at him like he was the funniest thing they had ever seen. From their perspective he could even see the humor, they clearly came from pretty far in the future. He was probably an old man. It must be amusing to see such an elderly friend so young and clueless. Plus, there is a protectiveness that radiates from all three of them that he has only ever felt from his mother and Bucky. It’s comforting, and his instincts say trust it, and Steve Rogers is a man who always trusts his instincts.  

                Steve locks the apartment door and makes his way back across the street.


	8. Day Off

                “Look I made it all the way to my apartment and back without getting murdered,” Steve says with just a touch of sarcasm.

                “Good job, very skilled,” Tony says with an equal amount of sarcasm. Steve smirks at him, “So, since I’m not allowed to go to work, what am I going to do all day?”

                “Stay here. Clint and I are going to hunt down the assassin.” Natasha says.

                “What’s Tony going to do then?” Steve asks.

                “I’m on babysitting duty squirt” Tony says.

                “Babysitting? Who are…Hell no. I do not need a babysitter.” Steve says, the grin disappearing.

                “Aw come on, it will be fun. You can tell me old timey stories about the 30’s and I can tell you how much cooler the future is going to be.” Tony says. His grin is slightly mocking. Not in a malicious way, not like the guys who encourage him to throw a punch before beating him up. It was friendly, like there is a joke in there that Steve just isn’t quite getting.

                “They aren’t old timey stories,” Steve grumbles, but it comes out a lot less bitter than it could.

                “Don’t you dare tell him anything important or Cap will have your head.” Natasha scolds.

                “Who’s Cap?” Steve asks.

                “Our fearless leader of course. He’s the one who made the call to send us back to protect you,” Clint says.

                “He’s very concerned with your safety,” Tony adds, his grin growing wider.

                “Do I know him in the future?” Steve asks.

                “You’ve met,” Clint says sharing a look with Tony and Natasha. Tony looks on the verge of laughter, Natasha scowls at them both.

                “Take this seriously,” She warns before disappearing out the door. Clint follows her with a jaunty wave.

                Outside the street is crowded with New Yorkers preparing for a long day. Clint wrinkles his nose at the smog and dust.

                “Makes our New York look positively clean.” He says. Natasha doesn’t acknowledge him as she ducks around the back of the building. She pulls out the walkie-talkie Bruce had given them before they left.

                “Hey, we have a little bit of a problem,” She says by way of greeting.

                “Are you referring to the fact that you told Steve you were from the future or the fact that you let Steve get shot?” Bruce asks.

                “How did you know?” Clint asks.

                “Steve flickered. He almost disappeared.” Bruce says, and there’s a slight accusation in his tone that make both Natasha and Clint shift guiltily, “Also every time you guys change something he gets new memories.”

                “He’s remembering this?” Natasha asks.

                “Yeah, though apparently everything is jumbled and confused. It’s giving him awful headaches. Here let me get him.” Bruce says. Moments later Cap’s voice comes on the line. He sounds tired.

                “Hey guys. Please tell Tony to knock it off messing with young me. I don’t want to hear about Cat memes.” Steve says, “And hurry up with finding this guy.”

                “Sure thing Cap. You ok? You sound awful.” Clint says.

                “He looks it too.” Bruce says in the background. His voice tinny and far away sounding.

                “I’m fine, just a headache. The longer you guys stay there the worse it gets so try to make this snappy, ok?” Steve says, tension clear in his voice. Clint and Natasha exchange concerned looks.

                “Sure thing Cap.” Natasha says. She hangs up with a worried crease in her forehead. Clint nudges her shoulder gently.

                “You know he’s going to be fine, right? He’s had worse than a headache before.”

                “He nearly disappeared from existence.” She says and it comes out harsher than she meant it. The grin drops off Clint’s face.

                “Yeah, we dropped the ball there, but it’s not going to happen again.”

                The dark look on his face is oddly reassuring. Natasha has seen that look before only a few times, but it has always meant good things for the mission, and very bad things for whomever they were after. She follows him out into the streets.

                Meanwhile things have become noticeably awkward back in the apartment. Not sure what to say, both have drifted off into an uneasy silence, both stealing glances at the other when they think they aren’t looking.

                “So…what’s the future like?” Steve asks. He says it casually, but Tony can see the coiled tension in his shoulders and burning curiosity in his eyes.

                “Are you just trying to get me in trouble with the assassin?” Tony asks, hiding his own grin.

                “Of course not- wait she’s an assassin?” Steve’s eyes get big.

 _Shit. Probably, no definitely, shouldn’t have mentioned that._  Tony covers his mess up with an easy smile, “Of course. What better way to catch an assassin than with your very own assassin.”

                “And I know her in the future? I know an assassin?” Steve asks and Tony isn’t sure if he sounds excited or terrified by that idea.

                “Oh yeah, you and her are good friends. She’s got a real soft spot for you,” Tony grins at the slack jaw bug eyes look Steve has going on. He wishes he could take a picture because he’s never seen Cap so shocked, not even that time they introduced him to reality TV.

                “You’re putting me on,” Steve says once he gets his jaw working again.

                “I swear I’m not,” Tony says, “You two work together.”

                “I’m an assassin!?” Ok, that was definitely panic in his voice.

                “No, you idiot. You’re a soldier. You join the army.” Tony says. He probably shouldn’t have told him that, and Natasha is definitely going to kill him when she gets back, but he couldn’t let Steve Rogers go around thinking he was assassin. It would damage his whole psyche.

                “That’s a lie.” Steve says, his whole face darkening. He looks at Tony distrustfully, as if now doubting his entire story.

                “What’s a lie? That you join the army? We told you that you were going to be important.” Tony says.

                “I’ve got asthma and a heart condition. Nobody is going to let me join the army.” Steve says.

                “Listen, I wasn’t there when you finally joined up, but from what you’ve mentioned, it took a few tries and couple of lies on your papers before you found someone crazy enough to let you in, but you do eventually manage it.” Tony says.

                Steve looks at him, hopeful, and Tony is sure that Steve has been contemplating trying to join for a while now. He just needed the extra boost of confidence to go through with it. Steve gives him a shy smile and damn, Tony, hadn’t quite realized how boyish he looked. Steve always looked young, in an ageless Greek God type of way, but now he looked more like a child. It seems cruel to ship someone who looked like a strong wind would snap him in half overseas to the bloodiest conflict in history. Sure he wanted to go and yes, he does save the entire East Coast, but it still didn’t seem right.

                The smile drips off Steve’s face under Tony’s assessing look.

                “Tony?”

                Tony snaps out of his thoughts with a smile. Time to change the subject to less dangerous things.

                “If I tell you about all the sweet tech I invent in the future, promise not to let Russian Mama Bear know?” He asks, and is pleased to see the eager smile return to Steve’s face.

                It is the most pleasant conversation the two had ever had in Tony’s opinion. Tony keeps his snarky comments to himself and Steve doesn’t seem quite so defensive or judgmental as he usually does when talking to Tony. In fact he seemed downright fascinated by everything Tony says. And why shouldn’t he? Tony is pretty damn fascinating if he says so himself. Although he is surprised by just how much Steve seems to be interested in technology; the only really safe subject they can talk about. Tony had gotten the impression that while Steve had nothing against technology, he avoided it whenever possible. Tony makes a note to himself to try talking to Steve more often about projects he is working on.   

                Of course he can’t help messing with him a bit as he starts talking about the internet, but he backs off when Steve’s smile dims. He looks like such a kicked puppy that Tony can’t find it in him to keep going. Instead he switches to something he knows Steve will appreciate; medical breakthroughs through the ages. That causes Steve to light up and he peppers Tony with questions.

                There have been a few slip ups. Once Tony even called him Cap, which he hastily covered up with a cough. For his part, Steve is in awe and not only about the things that Tony personally created. (Iron Man sounded swell, even though he didn’t fully understand it). He was more amazed by the breakthroughs in the medical field. Perhaps there was hope in his future yet.

                Hours later Natasha and Clint reappear. Natasha flicks Tony in the ear as she passes his chair.

                “Ow. Hey, what was that for?” Tony asks.

                “That was from the Captain.”

                “You talked to him? What did I do this time and how does he even know?” Tony asks.

                “I called Bruce to get an update,” Natasha says and then stops. Her eyes slide over to Steve, “Not much to tell. Neither is happy that we let Steve get shot. Also the Captain wants you to take the mission more seriously and stop telling Steve about cat memes.”

                “How the hell does he even know about that?” Tony complains.

                 “He’s the Captain. Of course he knows everything.” Natasha shrugs.

                “…Right,” Tony says with a sidelong glance at Steve. An awkward silence falls over them, chasing away the laughter and stories of the afternoon. Steve feels strongly that he is missing out on something important.

                “So did you catch the fella who’s trying to kill me?” Steve asks, mostly to break the silence. He can tell from the sullen looks and Clint’s hunched shoulder’s that it hasn’t been a productive day for them.

                “No, but we will.” Natasha says.

                “I’m sure you will,” Steve agrees standing up, “and I really appreciate what you all are doing for me.”

                He strolls casually towards the door, forcing himself to stand straight, despite the pain. He hopes if he walks with enough confidence the others won’t question him about his leaving.

                “Where do you think you’re going?”

                He flinches. The tone is remarkably similar to his mother’s and he fights the urge to shuffle his feet guiltily.

                “I have to go back to my apartment. I can’t hide out here forever. I have a life.” Steve says.

                “A life that’s still in danger.” Natasha reminds him.

                “I’m not a coward. Besides, maybe if I go back out it will lure the assassin out as well.”

                “You want to use yourself as bait?” Clint asks, sounding torn between exasperated and amused.

                “Yes, it has already drawn him out twice before.”

                “It also got you shot, and almost killed.” Tony points out, but he doesn’t seem particularly adverse to the idea.

                Only Natasha seems to be holding out, red lips pulled into a tight frown.

                “Please. I promise to keep my eyes peeled and be extra careful.” Steve says. He widens his blue eyes just so, in a way that that make all the old ladies down at the library twitter before letting him check out more books that what is usually allowed.

                Her frown deepens, “don’t even try to use those eyes on me Rogers.”

                Her lips twitch, “but using you as bait isn’t the worst plan in existence.”


	9. Fight

                The first thing that hits Steve when he opens the door to his apartment an hour later is the smoke; it’s thick and makes his eyes water. The next thing he notices is the smell of something burning. Then both observations are pushed out of his mind by a sharp constricting feeling in his chest. He begins coughing. The pain from his still healing bullet wound is agonizing as coughs jar the injury. He folds his arms tightly across his body as if that will help, but he’s trembling and dizzy with pain and breathlessness.

                “Aww Jeez, I’m sorry.” Two arms take him by the shoulders and gently guide Steve back into the hallway.

                “What the…hell Buck?” Steve asks between coughs. His eyes still stinging with tears.

                “I was trying to make soup.”

                “How do you burn soup? It’s mostly broth!” Steve asks, trying to get his breathing back under control before he triggers a full blown asthma attack. The pain in his side has subsided to a throbbing ache, pulsing with every beat of his overworked heart.

                “It’s harder than it looks.” Bucky says a touch defensively, “stay out here while I open the window and clear out the smoke.”

                Bucky disappears back inside and Steve leans against the wall. He blinks away the last of the tears, aware that for the first time since he found out that someone was out to kill him that he is completely alone. He had promised the others that he would stay by the windows all evening so they could keep an eye out on him. He strains his ears for the sounds of footsteps or of the safety of a gun being released. Would the assassin even try using a gun again? Or would he try something new, possibly using a futuristic weapon that didn’t even exist yet. That was an unnerving thought. He wouldn’t even know what to look for if that was the case. Suddenly standing out here alone seemed a lot less desirable that the threat of an asthma attack inside.

                The smoke is mostly cleared out, though what lingers still tickled his throat and Steve represses a cough, worried Bucky will send him outside again. Carefully Steve makes his way to the open window. A cool breeze is flowing and it feels nice. Pretending to be enjoying the breeze, Steve leans outside and counts the windows on the building next door until he finds the window he’s looking for.

                He can’t see anyone in the window, they are clearly experts at their jobs, but he flashes them a grin anyway to let them know he hasn’t been murdered in the five minutes he left their line of sight. He shuts the window and turns back to Bucky.

                “So, did you manage to salvage the soup?” He asks.

                “It’s fine. It probably won’t kill ya,” Bucky says setting two bowls on their small table.

                “Thanks.” The soup is edible, and definitely not the worst thing he’s ever had to eat. He hopes Tony, Clint, and Natasha are eating. He didn’t see Clint or Natasha come back with any food and he doubts there’s any food in that apartment they’re hiding out in.

                “You’re awfully quiet.” Bucky observes, “still sore from the fight?”

                “Hmm? Oh yeah,” Steve says and his side where the bullet hit twinges.

                “So who do I need to beat up?”

                “Nobody. I can fight my own battles Buck.” Steve says firmly.

                “Clearly. But seriously, let me know who did it.”

                “It’s over. Let it drop.” Steve says, setting his jaw stubbornly. Bucky sighs.

                “Fine, but the offer still stands.”

                After dinner Steve turns in early to avoid any more questions about his bullies. Bucky gives him a look that’s a mix between worried and suspicious, which Steve forces himself to ignore. No use in getting Bucky involved in this.

~*~*~*~

                Work is horrible. The hours drag by and Steve has to stop himself from jumping at every customer who walks through the door. He catches sight of Tony walking past the store once and has yet to see Clint or Natasha. He assumes they are watching though, just too professional to be seen. _Pull it together Rogers_ he tells himself firmly after he nearly hits Sally Lovell with his broom when she startles him.

                His side burns and the pain radiates from the wound until his whole body feels sore. Every step brings a fresh stab of pain, which Steve fights to ignore. In some bizarre way Steve is grateful that the assassin is still on the loose, because it gives him something else to focus on besides the pain. Of course, when he does think about the assassin it’s always with a thrill of terror.

                It’s horrifying to know that an assassin is lurking somewhere out there. Even more so when he realizes that the assassin traveled through time for the sole purpose of killing him. That seems like a lot of effort to go through just to kill one man. After work he forces himself not to go straight home. He had argued against being cooped up in that small apartment for his own safety, he wasn’t about to hide himself away in a different small apartment. Besides the more he was out, the more opportunity for them to catch the assassin.

                Steve takes his sketchbook and pencils to Central Park and chooses a secluded area with plenty of trees to work. If bullets start flying he doesn’t want anyone else to accidentally be caught in the crossfire.

                He starts sketching. Lines and curves come together to form a picture. It’s what he thinks Iron Man may look like based on what Tony told him about it. He makes a note to show the picture to him later and see how close he got. Personally, he thinks it looks big and clunky, and though Tony explained it to him he still doesn’t understand how the suit flies without actual wings. He draws wings on the suit, sticking out on either side of the back like airplane wings.

                “Hey Rogers!”

                Steve jumps ready to bolt before he realizes that it would be highly doubtful that a trained assassin would give himself away by calling his name and that he recognizes that voice. Steve straightens his back, and tries not to show just how startled he was.

                “What do you want Patrick?”

                Patrick Farley was just one of many of the guys who seem to have it out for Steve. Bucky had popped him in the jaw on occasion, but Patrick always came around again looking for trouble sooner or later.

                “I never properly repaid you for the lucky bloody nose you got off of me last month.” He says.

                “Lucky? You were just lucky that it wasn’t a broken nose.” Steve distractedly. He looks around, too see if Patrick has drawn any unwanted attention to them. The park remains as deserted as before.

                “You’ve got a smart mouth, where’s your babysitter?”

                “Bucky? Not here. Want me to give you a fat lip to match the nose?” Steve asks and feels a thrill at Patrick’s glare. This is familiar territory; getting into fist fights with the average bully was the norm. Far more normal than assassins and time travel.

                “That’s it Rogers, someone needs to put you in your place.” He throws a punch. Steve dodges, twisting and pulling at his still healing bullet wound painfully. The pain only heightens the adrenalin as he throws a punch of his own. He puts all the tension and all the worry from the past day into it and lands a solid punch to his stomach.

                There is a brief moment of triumph where Steve thinks he might have the upper hand. Then he’s slammed against the ground. His vision grays out for a few seconds. He doesn’t even see the fist crashing into face. Once, twice, and suddenly Patrick is ripped violently away from him. Steve blinks a few times. Clint comes into focus. His face is a cold blank mask that is somehow more terrifying than any scowl. There’s a knife in his hand, and although he’s not holding it up to Patrick, the threat is clear. A coward at heart Patrick backs down, pulling himself out of Clint’s grip and disappearing amongst the trees before Clint can even say anything.

                “Thanks.” Steve grunts as Clint pulls him to his feet.

                “What the hell was that about?” Clint growls. He grabs Steve by the face and checks his eyes, “I’m trying to keep you safe from an assassin and you’re trying to get yourself killed in a street fight.”

                “I’m fine.” Steve says pulling out of Clint’s grasp. Clint lets go of his face but only so he can grab him by the shoulder.

                “Come on. We’re going back to the apartment to get you patched up.” He says steering Steve out of the park.

                Natasha and Tony stare at Steve’s bloody nose and face which is already beginning to bruise, as Clint pushes Steve firmly into a chair.

                At that moment Steve briefly wonders if Clint is a father, because the scolding look Clint is currently pinning him with is downright parental. Clint crosses his arms and Steve looks away guiltily.

                “What happened?” Tony asks.

                “Somebody doesn’t know when to shut his mouth,” Clint says handing Steve a cloth so he can wipe his face.

                “He started it.” He winces more out of embarrassment than pain when three sets of eyebrows raise at his, admittedly childish, response.

                Tony whistles.

                “That’s the second fight you’ve gotten into since we’ve been here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are an angry rebellious youth. I bet you would even listen to Punk music if it existed.”

                Steve just glares at him out of his one good eye.

                “Join the army kid. They’ll set you on the straight and narrow.” Tony says with a grin. Steve rolls his eyes, dropping the glare.

                “Thanks for helping out,” Steve says to Clint, “I gotta get back to the apartment and change out of my bloody shirt before Bucky gets home.”

                Steve stands up, and when nobody stops him, gives them all a grin before walking out. The door quietly snaps shut behind him.

                “That boy is going to be the death of me,” Clint says shaking his head.

                “Don’t lie, it’s kind of fun busting in and saving a pint sized Captain America,” Tony says.

                “Tony this is serious,” Natasha says.

                “I am being serious.”

                “He was picking a fight with a guy twice his size. If I hadn’t stepped in he would be sporting more than just a bloody nose and a few bruises,” Clint says grumpily.

                “Does that surprise either of you?” Tony asks. From their identical expressions, Tony can see that it clearly does.

                “Come on, Cap is always the first one to dive head first into a fight with everything we’ve ever fought. You think that started when he got the serum? I dare say our dear Captain, the soul of responsibility, was actually quite the rebel in his youth.” Tony says. Natasha rolls her eyes, while a slow smile breaks out over Clint’s face.

                “Why Tony, I think you might be right. I am never letting Cap forget it when we get back either.”

                “Just think, next time he tries to give us a lecture about our less than model conduct, we can shut him right up.” Tony says cheerfully, and even Natasha has to smile at that.


	10. Cold

                Steve returns home and quickly washes the blood off his face. He also changes his bloody, mud stained shirt, hastily hiding it at the bottom of the hamper where Bucky won’t see it. It won’t stop Bucky from knowing he got into another fight, but maybe it will be enough for him not to worry. He doubts it though. Bucky has turned worrying about him into an art form. 

                Steve hears the door slam and jumps.

                “Hey punk.”

                Steve relaxes at the familiar voice.

                “Leftovers for dinner,” He calls as Bucky takes off his boots. Bucky glances up, his eyes taking in the bruises forming on Steve’s face, a small stain of blood that Steve had missed in his washing, and the shirt he definitely wasn’t wearing this morning. Bucky leans back, “alright, who was it this time?”

                “Patrick,” Steve says easily, glad that he can be honest about something.

                “He’s an ass. I’ll take care of him.” Bucky says.

                Steve starts to nod, but pauses. Patrick will definitely mention Clint if Bucky confronts him.

                “Oh don’t worry about it Buck. Some passerby broke it up real quick,” Steve says. It’s not a lie, technically.

                “So? Doesn’t mean I can’t pop him one as well.” Bucky says.

                “I don’t think Patrick will be bothering me again. Stranger had knife on him and gave him a good and proper scare.” Steve grins. The smile slips off his face at Bucky’s increasingly worried look. Clearly he had miscalculated.

                “It was fine. He didn’t use the knife or nothing. Just scared him a bit and let him go.” Steve says quickly. Bucky steps closer to Steve looking him over critically as if looking for hidden knife wounds on Steve.

                “He didn’t hurt me at all,” Steve says rolling his eyes.

                “Did he take your wallet?”

                “What? No. I didn’t get mugged. He was an ok fellow I swear,” Steve grins, “believe it or not, but not everyone in the world is out to get me.”

                Bucky gives him a playful shove.

                “I know that you lug. You just have a knack for finding the ones who are out to get you.”

                It’s a scolding, but a lighthearted one. Steve lets him have it without arguing and starts heating up the leftovers on the stove. He wishes there was a faster way to do it. Maybe Tony will invent something that can, assuming they don’t already have that in the future.

                After dinner Steve settles down in front of the window, content to spend the evening sketching under the watchful eye of Bucky and his three hidden sitters. Only, when he looks around he can’t find his sketchbook. The apartment is small and a quick look around shows that the sketchbook is nowhere to be seen. Steve groans when he remembers the last place he had seen the sketchbook; in the park. He had saved up for weeks to buy it, and he hadn’t even filled up half the pages yet. _Looks like it’s back to drawing on scraps of paper_ he thinks with a disappointed sigh.

                Steve’s on the cusp of thinking that things just can’t get any worse for him when he feels it; a faint tickle in the back of his throat. _Oh no._ A series of sneezes follow in quick succession. Bucky looks up, his over protective sensors already on high from before.

                Steve sinks back into the couch, resigned. Bucky places a hand on his head and tsks at him in a way that Steve knows he learned from his mother.

                “You’re a bit warm, and looking a bit peaky.”

                “I’m fine,” Steve says squirming away from Bucky’s hand.

                “I’m going to make you some tea and the moment you get worse you’re going to tell me,” Bucky says as if he hadn’t heard.

                Ten minutes later a cup of tea appears on the little table next to the couch. Steve drinks it obediently. The sneezing gets worse, and when he finishes his cup, Steve quickly excuses himself to go to bed.

                The next morning Steve oversleeps. When he does eventually pull himself fully into wakefulness it is with a pounding head and a stuffy nose. Steve’s just glad that Bucky leaves for work before him.

                Steve skips breakfast. He’s late and not very hungry anyway. He can already tell today is going to be miserable and long. Suddenly an assassin’s bullet doesn’t sound so terrible. He quirks his lips at the morbid thought, grateful that, as far as he knows, Natasha Clint and Tony can’t read minds. At least he hopes they can’t. He wouldn’t put it past Tony to invent something that could though.

                He opens the door and steps into the hallway and on to something that is not carpet. It crinkles under his weight and he looks down. His sketchbook, only a little dirty, sits on the floor. Steve picks it up, glancing around although he knows he won’t see anyone. A piece of paper flutters out of it.   

“Behave”

                An honest laugh bubbles out of him unbidden, which very quickly turns into a coughing fit.

                “I will,” he promises the empty corridor. He puts the sketchbook away and walks to work a little happier that before.

                Steve is calmer at work. Clearly the fight in the park had taken the edge off, or maybe the cold was just dulling his instincts for self-preservation. That could be it. Colds have a way of draining ones energy and attention away from anything that wasn’t the clogged feeling in one’s nose or throbbing in one’s head.

                By the time work has finished his throat is sore and head pounds. He sincerely hopes there isn’t an assassination attempt tonight, because he’s really just too tired to be bothered. Steve makes it back to his apartment, but only after two coughing fits that were so bad they almost trigger an asthma attack. His lungs burn as he climbs the stairs, thinking of nothing but how comfortable his bed will be.

                Steve opens the door to his apartment and despite the cold instantly knows that someone has been inside. He tenses as he inches his way inside. Bucky shouldn’t be back for another hour at least. On the table sits a box of tea, that hadn’t been there this morning. A note on the tea merely reads “Drink it.” It is somehow both comforting and threatening. Steve relaxes. He has a strong guess who sent him the tea, and he’s pretty sure that it isn’t his assassin. And if it is, then the man gets points for creativity in Steve’s opinion. He waves out the window and flashes a grateful thumbs up before making himself a cup of tea.

                “Where’d you get the tea?” Bucky asks. He has just walked through the door after a long day spent trying not to worry about Steve’s worsening cold.

                “Mr. Dilworth gave it to me when he heard me coughing,” Steve lies. He feels a bit guilty by how good he has gotten at lying these past few days. Then he firmly reminds himself the necessity of the lies and gives Bucky an easy smile.

                “That’s unusual for you. Since when do you accept charity?” Bucky asks, suspicious.

                “He was particularly forceful,” Steve says, remembering the note. Bucky lets it drop, content that Steve was actually taking care of himself for once. Steve turns in early, Bucky not far behind.


	11. Down at the Docks

          Steve had been sick for a few days now, and though he assured all of them that colds were a normal part of his life, that didn’t stop any of them from hovering about anxiously.

          “Aren’t you supposed to searching for the assassin? You can’t do that if you’re all too busy making sure I’m wearing a coat and drinking my tea,” Steve complains as Clint escorts him to work.

          “Our job is to keep you alive at all costs, and this whole trip will have been a waste of time if we stop the assassin only for you to be brought down by the flu,” Clint says.

          “It’s not the flu and Bucky is already way ahead of all of you. Now scram, go catch the guy who’s been screwing with my life,” Steve commands. Clint grins.

          “So bossy,” he teases. However, nobody can deny that Steve is right. History had already shown that whatever cold Steve has picked up won’t cause his any long term damage and their focus needs to be on completing their mission.

          So after assigning Tony to another day of Cap duty, Natasha and Clint head off down by the docks. Natasha and Clint had both been floating the idea that, after two failed solo attempts, the assassin had withdrawn for the moment in order to gather backup, and they all had strong suspicions that backup wouldn’t be hard for him to find. Every day the newspaper reported on the war in Europe and everyday things got a bit tenser in the neighborhood. Steve may have been first to realize that America couldn’t avoid the war forever, but slowly everyone else was piecing that fact together as well. And not everybody thought that Germany should be America’s enemy.

          Steve had actually been the one to suggest the docks as a starting point. Bucky worked at the dock most days and according to the stories he told Steve, brawls were breaking out all over the place over recent politics. If the assassin was looking for fellows who shared his beliefs, the docks would be a good place to start looking.

          Natasha really wishes she didn’t have to wear a skirt. Since making it down to the docks she has endured two wolf whistles, four “appreciative” comments about her legs, and countless jeering looks. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t mind, but under normal circumstances she would have broken the wrist of the drunk who tried to get too handsy with her. Clint had done the job for her, but she wasn’t enjoying this century. The lack of technology was fine for her, although she knew that it was secretly driving Tony crazy, it was the inability to do anything without blowing her cover that was killing her. She couldn’t wear pants, she couldn’t throw a punch, she couldn’t even wear her hair down without looking suspicious, and she hated bobby pins.

          “Hey baby-doll. You selling, because I’m interested.” His eyes traveled immediately to her chest. Clint only thought it was funny because he knew how badly she wanted to punch the man, but that didn’t mean his laughing was helping the situation.

          “Ease up wise guy, and get back to work or I’ll have the shift boss after you.”

          A familiar young man says, coming around the corner. Natasha and Clint watch as Bucky Barnes shoos the man away.

          “Sorry about him, don’t know why the boss keeps him around, he’s bad business.”

          Natasha smiles like she hasn’t been staking out Bucky’s apartment building for the past week.

          “Thank you,” she says demurely, as if she truly needed his stepping in.

          “Not a problem ma’am, but the docks really aren’t the place for a lady. Are you looking for someone?” Bucky asks.

          Natasha and Clint share a glance. Steve has been firm about not dragging Bucky into the situation, but it would be helpful to have someone trustworthy point them in the right direction.

          “Yes, actually. We’re with the FBI,” Clint lies.

          “Both of you?” Bucky asks with a glance at Natasha, “I didn’t know they let Dames in the FBI.”

          “Agent Romanoff isn’t your average dame,” Clint says, “and we’re investigating American Bund members on suspicion of ties to the German Nazi party.”

          Bucky’s eyes get wide, “Like espionage?”

          “Yep, you know any guys like that?”

          “Not personally. Fellows who get involved with the Bund are bad news.”

          “Can you at least point us in the right direction?” Natasha asks.

          “Sure. There’s a bar not far from here. It attracts the worst sort.” Bucky says, “I get off my shift soon, I’ll show you.”

          “No need, we don’t need a civilian getting caught up in this. Just tell us the name of the place and where it is and we’ll be on our way,” Clint says.

          For a moment it looks like Bucky is going to argue. Clint wonders if he has the same hot temper as Steve. Then Bucky gives them an easy grin.

          “Sure, sure. Always happy to help out. The place is called Hickory House and it’s just off of Seventh St. It’s not really a great place for a lady to be though.”

          “I’ll handle it,” Natasha says shortly.

          “I’m sure you will ma’am. I just don’t know how long you two will be able to maintain your cover if you feed someone a knuckle sandwich for getting to fresh with you, and the boys down there don’t take too kindly to the law enforcement types.” Bucky says, “but if you sent me, well nobody would expect me to be working with the FBI. They’ve all seen me down by the docks.”

          Natasha smiles. The eagerness is practically dripping off of him, and she’s half tempted to take him along. From the few fights she’s watched him break up on Steve’s behalf, she knows he’s got a good right hook and he’s right about blending in much better than her or Clint. It’s almost a shame that he’s too important to history to risk like this. She’s well aware of how Steve got his real start as Captain America; storming a Hydra base looking for Bucky.

          “Sorry kid. We appreciate the enthusiasm, but this is a job for professionals,” Natasha says.

          Bucky looks disappointed, too disappointed to leave without offering at least something.

          “Stay out of trouble and maybe someday you could be an agent,” Clint says, and it’s cheesy but Bucky lights up at the thought. Clint has to hold back a wince at how excited Bucky looks. Clint knows that Bucky will never be an FBI agent. He knows that in a few years’ time Bucky will be dead; killed far from home and his body never recovered. It’s always been a sad story, just because Clint knows how broken up over Bucky’s death Steve still is, but now after meeting Bucky for himself… It’s unfair. Clint has seen a lot of unfair things in his life, but watching a dead man walking and standing by without even trying to warn of him of his fate… This is definitely going to be something that bothers him later. For now though, Clint pushes those thoughts aside. They have a mission to complete. They say goodbye to Bucky and make their way to the bar.

           As soon as they are far enough down the street Bucky shouts to his boss, “Hey Johnny, I’m cutting out early.”

          The bar is easy to find. It’s the only one on a long street of bars that’s packed at two in the afternoon. Music like the kind Clint and Natasha know are on Steve’s iPod back home pour out the open windows. Brushing back a loose curl, Natasha confidently walks through the doors, Clint following right behind. She holds her head high, as if she isn’t the only woman in the room. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and a lingering oily smell that the dock workers have brought with them.

          Seeing all eyes instantly snap to her, Natasha decides it’s best to nip any potential problems in the bud right now. A man reaches out to pinch her butt. Her arm snaps out, grabbing him by the wrist.

          “Try that again and I’ll break it,” she says bending the wrist back dangerously. The man tugs. She holds on just long enough for the first signs of fear to cloud his eyes before she lets go.

          Clint heads straight for the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender grabs a glass but is slow to pour it.

          “Never seen you around here before.” He says.

          “Never been here before,” Clint says, “just got back from a trip from Germany.”

          “What were you doing there?” The bartender looks cautiously intrigued.

          “I had some business to attend to,” Clint says vaguely, hoping that the bartender wouldn’t want details. He knows his history knowledge isn’t good enough to know exactly what type of business would be expected over there at this time.

          “See anything good while you were over there?” The bartender asks, finally giving him his shot of whiskey. Clint downs it.

          “Saw the Fuhrer giving a speech in Berlin. I was impressed,” Clint says, “he really knows how to move a crowd.”

          Now, more than the bartender are listening with interest. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint can see the men at the next table leaning in to listen with interest. Clint holds back any feelings of disgust from showing on his face as he describes the elegance of Hitler’s speech.

          Clint stands up from the bar, moving closer towards the table. If the assassin had been here, these look like the type of men who would be willing to help. It’s a tough looking lot, probably dock workers. All of them in their twenties. Clint wonders how many of them will end up drafted by the time the war ends.  

          Focused on keeping an eye on the table to his left, Clint doesn’t even notice the man at the far end of the table has been glowering at him since he started talking.

          “You look interested fellas,” Clint says dropping into an empty seat at the table.

          “You really saw Hitler?” One of the guys asks. He says it casually, but Clint can see the poorly concealed excitement in his eyes.

          “This last trip wasn’t even the first time. I do a lot of business over there.”

          “Boy, I’d like to see Germany. He’s really fixing up his country, not like us. We’re falling apart,” the man says bitterly.

          “Can’t walk the streets anymore without running into filth,” another one at the table agrees.

          The man from across the bar who had been watching stands up. From her place by the entrance of the bar Natasha watches him stalk over to Clint’s table. A look of fury etched in every line of his face. He winds up and sucker punches Clint in the head. Clint blinks as stars burst in front of his eyes. The men at the table stand up, with shouts of anger.

          The man from the bar raises his fists. Others all around the bar watch with interest. Shouts of encouragement can be heard, and Clint has a feeling that brawls are a regular occurrence here. He swears under his breath. This isn’t what he needs right now, especially when he had just built up a good rapport with his targets.

          Someone from his table launches himself at the intruder. They roll on the floor, both getting a few sloppy punches in. Whenever they roll too close to another table a sharp boot to the ribs sends them rolling the other way.

          Clint wonders if there’s a way of breaking up the fight without damaging his credibility when there’s a burst of static in his ear. It’s hard to hear over the commotion and he’s pretty sure that the blow to the head knocked something loose in his comm because he can’t hear more than jumbled noise. Natasha seems to get the message though. She appears at Clint’s side, pale faced and tight lipped.

          “We need to go.”

  The fight forgotten, Clint and Natasha push their way through the crowd and back out onto the street. A minute later another figure slips out of the bar. Bucky follows the two spies down the street.


	12. Caught

                After Clint and Natasha leave for their investigation, Steve paces around the apartment restlessly. His cough has cleared up enough that Bucky is no longer plying him with tea every evening, and walking to work no longer put him on the verge of an asthma attack. He is even feeling well enough to start feeling stir crazy again by the lack of assassination attempts. Grabbing his coat, because he knows that Tony, or worse Natasha, will complain if they catch him outside without it, Steve decides to celebrate his reclaimed health with a walk around the block.

                The past few days have been unusually frustrating. Between Bucky, Natasha, Clint, and Tony Steve wonders if it’s possible to be smothered to death. Perhaps that is why the assassin hasn’t struck yet? He’s letting the others do the job for him. He’s so deep in thought, mentally complaining about over protective friends and overly weak lungs that he almost misses the recruitment sign plastered to a street light. He stops and does a double take.  

                Tony had mentioned that he had joined the army. He considers the sign thoughtfully.

                “You don’t join this early,” a voice says behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder as Tony casually strolls up to him wearing a dapper suit. He looks almost out of place in such a poor neighborhood.

                “You said it took a few tries. How early did I start trying?”

                “Don’t know,” Tony shrugs.

                “Then this is going to be my first attempt,” Steve says decisively.

                “Can’t you just go home? Try to join up on Natasha’s shift or something,” Tony complains.

                “I’m sick of doing nothing, of waiting around feeling useless. I’m doing this,” Steve says.

                “Fine, better than you blowing off steam by getting into fights I guess,” Tony says, “just don’t say I didn’t warn you when they reject your scrawny butt.”

                Steve glowers at him for a moment before turning back to look at the sign. He commits the address to memory. It’s not that far away. Steve heads off, Tony trailing slightly behind, not even trying to be inconspicuous. 

~*~*~*~*~

                Thor and Bruce discuss powering the machine, while Steve sketches on the couch with a spare notebook and pencil. He’s putting the final details of Natasha, her hair pinned back in a very smart 1930s style. It’s from one of his new memories. He’s been drawing to keep everything straight in his head and help with the headaches. They’ve been getting worse.

                The pencil Steve was using clatters to the floor.

                “Thor, he’s seizing,” Bruce shouts. Thor and Bruce rush to Steve’s side bracing him against the couch.

                “Doctor!” Thor practically yelps as Steve flickers beneath their hands.

                “Dammit, they better not have gotten him shot again.”

                The seizure subsides, and Steve blinks back into awareness.

                “Captain, what happened?” Thor asks worriedly, keeping a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

                “It was trap,” Steve mutters, still half lost in his new memories, “there never was a recruitment center on 3rd Street.”

                “I’ll get Natasha on the line,” Bruce says standing up.

                “No, there’s no time. They shot Tony and moved me to the other side of town,” Steve says standing up. He shrugs off Thor’s hand. His shield is propped up on the side of the couch. He picks it up, fitting it comfortably on his arm, “You need to send me back.”

                “You can’t go back. We already decided, it’s too dangerous. You might erase yourself from time,” Bruce says following him.

                “And if I don’t, then I’m definitely going to die.”

                Bruce and Steve stare at each other; Bruce with worry, Steve with his legendary stubbornness shining through in full force. Bruce blinks first.

                “Thor, power up the machine,” Bruce says quietly.

                Thor raises his hammer as thunder begins to rumble.

~*~*~*~*~

                “Stupid,” Steve curses to himself. They had gotten careless. The assassin hadn’t made a move in so long, they had gotten sloppy.

                Steve had watched Tony go down with a grunt. A pistol to the back of the head had been enough to daze him but not knock him out of the fight completely. A bullet to the back, however had done the trick. Steve had never seen anyone shot before, his own shooting notwithstanding.

                There was so much blood. Too much blood. Steve runs, slipping on blood slick concrete. His stomach flips over as he tries to catch his balance. He grabs Tony’s arm to—to what? He certainly can’t carry Tony out of here, but he isn’t going to leave him behind either. He tugs on Tony’s arm.

                “Come on. Come on.”

                Tony groans and coughs up blood. Steve’s not a doctor, but he knows that it’s a bad sign. Steve barely notices the hand on his arm until it’s too late. The man who shot Tony drags Steve by the arm as if he weighs nothing. Desperate not to leave Tony, and never one to go down without a fight Steve kicks with all his might.

                He lands a lucky kick on the man’s kneecap and he grunts, letting Steve go. Steve allows himself a smirk of satisfaction as he runs back to Tony. He only makes it a few feet before a solid blow to the head sends him crashing to the floor. Strong arms surround him, pinning his arms to his side and easily lift him off the ground.

                He shouts something in German and a second man appears. He’s a burly man, with dark hair and a scowl.

                “Tony!” Steve shouts.

                The second man grabs Steve’s legs and together they haul outside and into a waiting car. As the car starts moving Steve briefly considers jumping out, but it would be pointless. The only thing he would succeed in doing is hurting himself and they would merely catch him again. For now, it is better to wait for an opportunity.

                Steve monitors the route they take carefully, memorizing everything. He always had a good memory. He could draw whole portraits on memory alone.

                They drive to what used to be a bustling street, lined with shops. However, ever since the Depression hit the street has been empty as one shop after another shuttered their windows for good. An old bank sits on the corner. It was one of the first to close. Steve remembers before the depression when it was open. It was a grand building, with marble floors and high windows. He used to go with Ma to cash her paycheck each month. Just walking through those double doors made him feel rich.

                Those doors have been closed for years now and a fine coat of dust covers the marble floors. The men drag Steve inside. They bring him to the back of the former bank and tie him to one of the office chairs left behind when the place closed.

                The first man has his gun out again, holding it steady at Steve’s head. Steve glares back defiantly.

                “You have no idea how eager I am to shoot you,” he says, with a thick German accent, “but first I have a few questions for you.”

                Steve doesn’t say anything.

                “How did Tony Stark and the other avengers follow me to the past? The machine was designed to only be used once.”

                Steve shrugs as best he can, “I don’t know anything about that Mister.”

                “What did they tell you about the war?”

                Steve doesn’t bother answering.

                “You are useless,” The man says, “but at least now you will never be a thorn in our side.”

                Maybe if Steve didn’t know how much getting shot hurt he would be able to stare the man in face as he dies, but he does know. He’s intimately familiar with the feel of a bullet smashing through muscle and bone. It might make him a coward, but Steve closes his eyes.


	13. Rescue

                He hears the shot, and braces for an impact that will never come. Instead there is a metallic noise and the bullet falls harmlessly to the ground. Steve’s first thought is of the Iron Man suit Tony had told him about. He opens his eyes fully prepared to see the futuristic suit of red and gold.

                Instead he sees a man dressed in blue holding a shield. Steve frowns. The man is unfamiliar, but clearly on his side. Did Tony send him, and if so why has Steve not met him before?

                Steve doesn’t have long to contemplate these questions as the stranger makes short work of Steve’s captors. Clearly the man is highly trained, he easily blocks all bullets with his shied and knocks out one of the men in one punch. He throws his shield at another, knocking him to the ground as well. The third man is clearly the smartest, as he doesn’t even try to fight, he just runs.

                He doesn’t make it far. The shield hits him squarely in the back of the head before bouncing back it its owner. The man goes down, and doesn’t get back up.

                And just like that Steve finds himself alone with the blonde stranger. The man turns and for the first time Steve gets a good look his face. He has a strong jaw, clear blue eyes and a body like an athlete. He looks like he could be Steve’s older brother, except Steve knows he doesn’t have one of those. But he might have something else.

                “Are you my son?” He blurts out.

                The man gives Steve a sheepish, almost guilty smile, his cheeks tinged pinks. It’s strange how someone so tall and confident can look so small and young, but suddenly he does.

                “Not exactly.”

                Steve’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, because he knows that voice. It’s _his_ voice. As Steve continues to stare, dumbstruck, Cap slowly puts down his shield and approaches him with the same caution one usually reserves for rabid dogs. The ropes fall away and Steve finds his voice.

                “How?”

                A mischievous smile finds its way onto Caps face, and it’s so familiar to the one Steve sees in the mirror, only his has never looked so bright. In fact everything about Cap is bright. He glows with a type of health Steve has never known.

                “I joined the army.”

                Steve wants to ask more. He’s practically bursting with questions, but then Cap is tilting his head, listening.

                “The others are coming. They can take it from here.” Cap says, then his mouth twists into an ironic grin, “do yourself a favor and don’t mention I was here.”

 “What am I supposed to tell them?” Steve asks looking around at the unconscious bodies.

                “I don’t know. Tell them you did it.” Cap says distractedly. Before Steve can argue, Cap takes out a small device. Cleary a piece of future technology. Steve looks on eagerly as Cap taps the screen with a confidence that Steve isn’t sure he will ever be able to achieve. A few beeps and then a strangers voice comes out of the…thing.

                “Hello. Cap?”

                “Hey Bruce, mission accomplished.” Cap says.

                Steve has seen telephones before, he knows what they look like and roughly how they work, though he’s never actually used one before. Although the thing Cap is using seems to work on the same general principle, it looks nothing like the telephones Steve is used to. There are no visible wires, no rotary dial, Steve can’t even tell up from down on it. He is fascinated by it though. Despite the stories of the future Tony had told, nothing compares to seeing a small piece of the future first hand.

                “Good, I’ll have Thor power up the machine and bring you back.”

                “Thanks.”

                Cap pushes a button- Steve assumes that is the future equivalent to hanging up- and slips the thing back into his pocket.

                He gives Steve a sloppy salute.

                “Good luck kid,” Cap says. Then he there’s a buzzing in the air, and the sharp smell of electricity. A flash of light and Cap is gone. Save for the still unconscious bodies, Steve is alone. He awkwardly swings his arms, then crosses them, before uncrossing them. He’s trying to find the easy confidence that Cap had. He’s trying to look like he belongs here, in an old bank surrounded by the bodies of his enemies. He’s not sure he quite pulls off the look.

                Then a bit of red catches his eye. It’s not blood. Thank God, it’s not blood. It’s the shield. In his rush to leave, Cap never picked it back up. Steve gently runs his fingers along the edge. Then with a guilty glance around, as if not sure if he should be even touching it, Steve picks it up. The straps are well worn leather that fit around his arm and wrist loosely, clearly mean for a much larger arm. The actual shield however, is surprisingly light. Sure, Steve doubts he could throw it with the power Cap had, but he has not problems lifting it, even with his skinny arms.  

                Steve wonders if the army issued the shield, although he can’t imagine why the army would issue a shield in the future where weapons like the Iron Man suit exist. It seems like it wouldn’t be enough. Then again…Steve looks at the unconscious bodies.

                As he stands there with the shield, the questions that he failed to ask Cap burn in his mind. He doesn’t wonder if that was really him, he knows that it is, but how? How did he get so strong, so healthy? Because there was clearly more to the story than just joining the army. And how did he look so young, when the others claimed they were from so far into the future?

                It’s been a long day and there are just too many questions and worries for one mind to process. The door being kicked in is a good distraction though. Steve means to raise the shield, in case his kidnappers have back up coming. Instead he jumps backwards, nearly tripping over the chair in the process. He just barely gets the shield up at all. Although he needn’t have worried. He peeks over the top of the shield to see Natasha lowering her gun as she surveys the situation.

                She looks at Steve. No, she looks at the shield. Then with a quirk of her lips she pockets the gun. Clint comes in next, with a high tech bow. It is a little confusing for Steve to think that anybody bothered to upgrade a bow, but then again they apparently used shields in the future as well. Maybe the future was a bit more medieval than he had been imaging.

                Tony comes in last, his shirt is still bloody, but Steve can see white bandages poking out beneath it. He’s pale and looks like a strong wind could knock him over and Steve feels a rush of relief that there is nobody left for him to fight, because right now Steve is pretty sure he could take Tony down. He has a feeling that the only reason he’s here is because Natasha and Clint didn’t want to waste time arguing with him about staying behind.

                “That little sneak,” Tony says, glaring at the shield as if personally offended him, “he dares yells at us for being unsubtle and then pulls a stunt like this?”

                “He wouldn’t have had to do that if we hadn’t let Steve get kidnapped,” Natasha reminds him.

                “I’m with Tony on this one. We are giving Cap so much crap when we get back,” Clint says grinning.

                “Umm,” Steve feels like he should at least put up a token argument for the sake of his future self, but he’s coming up pretty blank, and judging by the grins on their faces anything he says would probably make things worse. Despite what Bucky says, Steve can recognize a losing fight when he sees one.

                “He’ll…I’ll probably want this back,” Steve says instead. He holds the shield out to Natasha. As she takes it he feels the irrational urge to snatch it back. It feels like his, and in a way he supposes it is, and he feels its loss immediately. Natasha looks thoughtful as she slides the shield onto her arm.

                “Come on, let’s get you home. Nat can clean up here,” Clint says.

                Steve follows him, casting only a brief mournful look at his shield.

                “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back soon enough,” Tony says, falling into step next to him. Steve gives him a once over, all thoughts of his shield forgotten as he remembers Tony’s state the last time he saw him.

                “Should you be up walking around?” he asks.

                “Nope, and I’m sure I’ll get a lecture from you later, so save it.” Tony says.

                “How about an apology then. I’m sorry you got shot on my account.”

                “That I am going to lord over your head forever,” Tony says with a laugh. He stops when Steve doesn’t laugh along. In fact he looks somehow guiltier.

                “Come on,” Tony says nudging his shoulder, “It’s not your fault, and it’s not like it’s my first time being shot. It’s just part of the job. Nat and Clint patched me up fine, so turn off the kicked dog expression.”

                Suddenly, Bucky comes stumbling through the doors.

                “Steve? What the hell are you doing here?”

                Steve looks horrified, “Bucky?”

                “How did you get caught up in this mess?” Bucky asks accusingly.

                “I could ask you the same question.”

                “I just followed the FBI,” Bucky says nodding at Clint and Natasha. Then he takes a moment to actually look around at the unconscious bodies on the floor. He pales, “…Jesus, Steve.”

                “It’s not that bad,” Steve says weakly, looking at Clint and Natasha desperately. Clint steps in.

                “Mr. Rogers became the target of a Nazi organized assassination attempt. Our mission was to shut down the ring,” Clint says. Judging by the ever whiter pallor of Bucky’s cheeks, Steve wasn’t sure if informing him of Steve’s almost death was the most helpful thing Clint could have said.

                “Why?” Bucky manages to ask. He’s looking at Steve like he’s not sure if he wants to hug him or wallop him.

                “I picked a fight with the wrong fellow. I’m sorry Buck. I didn’t know he was anything more than the average bully at the time,” Steve says. It’s a believable lie; when was Steve not picking a fight with the wrong sort?

                “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asks.

                “Because the feds were handling it, and there was nothing you could do to help. I didn’t want you to worry,” Steve says sincerely. That at least was the truth.

                “I can’t believe you,” Bucky grumbles, but relief at Steve being safe seems to winning over his anger and he crosses the room, pulling Steve into a brief one armed hug, “maybe this will teach you to stop picking fights.”

                “I doubt it.” Steve says honestly.

                “Punk,” Bucky says affectionately.

                “I think it’s time for you to head on home. Mr. Rogers will need to be debriefed before we allow him to leave.” Clint says. Bucky looks reluctant to leave Steve’s side. Steve nudges him in the shoulder and gives him a grin.

                “Go home. They probably have bunches of paperwork for me to sign or something. You can start making dinner.”

                “You hate my cooking,” Bucky says, still obviously unhappy at the idea of him being sent away.

                “Yes, and I still promise to eat all of it, if you just go before you get yourself arrested by the FBI for being uncooperative.” Steve says, and that elicits a small smile.

                “Fine, don’t get assassinated on the way home,” Bucky says, and although he’s joking, his voice wavers slightly at the end.

                “We’ll take good care of him,” Tony promises. Bucky scans him, taking in the blood stains, and the way Tony is practically clinging to the wall to remain upright. It doesn’t reassure him. He looks at Natasha and Clint for better confirmation. At their nod, he finally looks willing to let Steve out of his sight.

They wait until Bucky is out of sight before taking Steve for a short “debriefing” back at the apartment base. Tony practically collapses into a chair. He waves away Clint and Steve’s concern.

                “I’m good. As soon as Natasha gets back, we’ll go home and I’ll have Bruce take a look at it.” Tony promises.

                “Thank you both, for everything.” Steve says sincerely. Clint and Tony both give him fond smiles. Steve wonders if it’s him they’re really seeing or Cap. Speaking of Cap…

                “How am I still so young so far into the future? And so healthy? And don’t just say that it’s because I joined the army.” Steve asks. He fixes them with his sternest look and both the smiles slip off their face as they exchange awkward looks.

                “That’s…classified.” Tony says. Steve gives him an unimpressed stare. A small smile tugs at Tony’s lips at the familiar expression on such a thin face, “sorry kid, don’t want to ruin any surprises. We already ruined the best surprise for you.”

                “What? That I actually get to join the army?”

                “No, that someday in the future you get the honor of knowing, and being on a first name basis, with me.” Tony says. Steve rolls his eyes.

                “A dubious honor at best,” Natasha says from the doorway.

                “Dubious?” Tony sputters indignantly.

                She ignores him. “Hostiles are taken care of,” she informs Clint.

                He nods, “Then I guess that’s mission complete. I hope we didn’t screw up your life too bad while we were here.”

                “You didn’t. Bucky will have questions and will probably never let me out of his sight again, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Steve says.

                “Good, someone has to keep you alive when we aren’t around,” Clint says.

“I suppose this is goodbye then,” Steve says, “It’s been a pleasure working with you.” He holds out his hand formally for Tony to shake. Tony ignores it in favor of a playful shove. He ruffles Steve’s hair, just for the sake of knowing he can do it and get away with it. Making Captain America’s hair stick out at odd angles is hilarious.

                “You’ll see us again,” Clint promises, giving Steve’s arms a squeeze.

                Natasha fixes Steve’s hair, “until then, try to stay out of trouble.”

                “You know my future, how does that work out for me?”

                “Not very well,” She admits, with a sigh that sounds slightly more amused than exasperated. 

                “Go on, shoo. Go back to your normal Brooklyn life,” Tony says, physically shooing Steve out the door, “and do us a favor and never mention us to anyone. Don’t want to accidentally change history or anything.”

                They watch out the window as Steve walks across the street to his apartment. He’s not in any danger, but some habits die hard. Minutes later the see him in the window of his apartment. He’s talking to Bucky, probably trying to fill in all the holes in their hastily constructed lie.

                “He asked us about the future,” Clint says.

                “What did you tell him?” Natasha asks. None of them stop watching the scene play out from Steve’s apartment. Even from here they can see pink in Steve’s face as he tries to bluster his way out of trouble.

                “Nothing. Told him we didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

                It now seems to be Bucky’s turn to speak. They watch Steve shake his head many times before Bucky finally seems to accept whatever additions to the story Steve came up with. He pulls him into a hug before sending him away to eat dinner.

                “Do you think we should have warned him?” Tony asks.

                Natasha’s face is unreadable as she watches Steve melt back into his life as if they had never been there at all.

                “No. He’s got enough grief in our time. Let him have whatever peace he has for now,” She says.

                “If we told him maybe he could change things. Save Bucky, avoid the ice,” Tony presses.

                “He couldn’t. We needed him during the Chituri invasion, and we still need him. We couldn’t just change history like that,” Clint says.

                “Besides, even if he knew he’d still go into the ice if it meant he would save people,” Natasha says, “we just saved him a few years of having to worry about it.”

                “Come on, let’s go home. I’m sick of this century and Tony probably should see a real doctor.” Clint says turning away from the window.


	14. Epilogue: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks so much for sticking with the story to the end. This is just a short epilogue to tie up all the loose ends. I ope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

                 The trip back to the future is as quick and jarring as their trip to the past. Thor is beaming at them when they stumble back to the present, hammer in hand. Bruce looks quietly pleased from his place by the computers. Standing front and center, in all his super soldier glory, is Steve. He has his patented Captain America Lecturing face on.

                “Whatever lecture you’ve probably been working on since we left you can can it right now,” Tony says, “also you left your shield.”

                Steve has the grace to look mildly embarrassed by that as he accepts his shield back, it doesn’t stop him from continuing his lecture.

                “That was reckless. You guys got sloppy and then you were about to go into battle wounded like that?”

                “Thankfully there wasn’t a battle though because somebody recklessly travelled back in time, and risked erasing themselves from history, to fight them for us,” Tony says pointedly.

                “Which I wouldn’t have had to do if someone hadn’t let me get kidnapped,” Steve says.

                “Hey,” Clint interrupts, “you are never allowed to scold us for being reckless again. Do you know how many fights of yours we had to break up? Is that all you did in the thirties; fight every guy twice your size?”

                “The Captain had a rebellious youth?” Thor asks excitedly, “Was he battling knaves and other blackguards?”

                “I don’t know if battling is the word I would use,” Clint says. Meanwhile Bruce has zeroed in on Tony’s bandages which are beginning to bleed through. He and Steve herd Tony into a nearby chair so Bruce can take a better look.

                “By the way Cap, you weren’t half bad as a wayward youth,” Tony says fondly.

                “Thanks. I’m pretty sure that’s the blood loss talking, but thanks,” Steve says. Then he reaches out and ruffles Tony’s hair. Tony groans and bats at his hand.

                It’s not the same Steve they left behind in the 30s, or even the same Steve the pulled out of the ice a few years ago, but Tony feels a rush of affection for the Steve they have now.

                “You’re smiling weird. It’s definitely the blood loss kicking in,” Steve says.

                Tony just continues to smile, because telling him what he’s thinking would be much too sappy, and yeah maybe it is partially blood losses fault. It’s ok though, Bruce is working on it. He’s going to be fine.

                “After Bruce is done, who’s up for _Star Trek_? Or maybe _The Hobbit._ Or both. Both is good” Tony says.

                "Rest first, then television," Bruce says firmly. Tony nods, adrenaline finally abandoning him. He closes his eyes and tips his head back lulled by the background noise of Natasha and Clint enthusiastically telling Thor of Steve's youthful exploits. Steve occasionally interrupts to protest halfheartedly. A strong feeling of contentment surrounds the cabin. It's nice, Tony thinks as he dozes off to sleep.


End file.
